


Tracking the Wolf

by LadylikeFoxes



Series: Tracking The Wolf [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (They obvs will...), Canon-ish, Drama Drama Drama, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Female Lavellan - Freeform, Fen'Harel - Freeform, I added a sketch to ch17, I'M SORRY OKAY?!, M/M, Romance, Scary Solas, Smut, Solas - Freeform, Welcome to my Solavellan Hell, Will they? Won't they?, i am terrible at this, mostly...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 67
Words: 179,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadylikeFoxes/pseuds/LadylikeFoxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t need you to love me, Solas.”<br/><em>“It was not a subject for debate.”</em></p><p> <br/><strong>**New Chapter Up: Ch.66!**</strong> <br/><strong>**Smut Warning for Ch. 25, 26, 28, 31, 36, 39, 44, 46, 49, 54, 58 & 65**</strong></p><p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enathe

Just for a moment, she was warm.

Everything had just been a bad dream.

She was home. She was safe.   
She heard the faint sound of a door hinge.

 

_Aravels don’t have door hinges._

In a moment of terror, a small elf dropped the box she was holding, babbling apologies, kneeling and begging for forgiveness. “Lady Cassandra will want to see you at once!”

_Ah. Lady Cassandra._  Everything flooded back to her.

 

As she gathered herself, she realized she had been bathed and redressed.

_Silk. Prisoners don’t wear silk._

 

She stepped outside the small warm cottage tentatively, and stopped short to realize the entire town had gathered on each side of the path between the small cottage and the Chantry. And they were bowing. Murmuring prayers. Calling her “Herald of Andraste.”

 

_Oh, no._

* * *

 

 

Solas saw her standing at the corner of the Apothecary’s shop, staring at him. He didn’t care; she could stand and stare as long as she liked. Even as nondescript as she was, her new and fitted silk garments were hardly mistakable, even in the dim light.

He had seen the town gather around her earlier in false worship of his magic. She appeared to be even more uncomfortable with them as she had been with him. She wasn’t used to the attention, maybe. It seemed more likely that she had never had to worry about being paid much attention. She was, supposedly, a spy. A Dalish _Mage_ Spy.

_Unlikely. The Dalish revere their Mages._

 

_“Quickly, ‘lest any more come through.”_

 

He thought back to the first time he had spoken to her.

_He released her wrist and watched as she pulled her arm in close to her, as though it had just touched hot coals. She searched his face with her eyebrows knit tight, and he gave her a polite smile._

_“What did you do?” Her voice was a gravelly whisper._

_“I did nothing. The credit is yours.”_  
  
_“You mean **this**.” She lifted her left palm again slightly, showing a faint green glow. She sounded less than convinced. He noticed that her armor and tunic must not have been her own, as they hung too loosely against her lithe frame, but the leggings and boots must belong to her, judging from the darning in the knees and the leather that had been worn so thin, they absorbed the damp and did little to protect her from the cold of the melting snow around her._  
  
_“Whatever magic opened the breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the breach’s wake. And it seems I was correct.”_

_“You mean it could close the Breach in the sky?” Cassandra asked, hopefully._

_“Perhaps your prisoner holds the key to our salvation,” he said, once again, giving her his most polite smile. He watched with growing annoyance, as her face only showed more suspicion._

_“Good to know. Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” She turned as he walked up to the three of them and held his hands up in greeting._

  
_“Varric Tethras. Rogue, Storyteller, and,” he smirked at Cassandra and gave her a wink, “occasional unwelcome tag-along.”_  


_Cassandra scoffed, rolling her eyes. Before she could finish telling Varric his help was not necessary, Varric had quieted her by explaining the current state of the Frostbacks._

_“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”_

_“He means he kept that thing on your hand from killing you while you were unconscious.” Varric gave a chuckle._

_Even after the Dalish girl had accepted Varric’s introduction—with what was nearly warmth—she looked at Solas with distrust._  


_“You have my thanks,” she murmured, barely loud enough to hear, never taking her eyes of his face. “How is it that you know so much about…whatever this is?”_  


_“Solas is an apostate, as you are,” Cassandra said, flatly enough to show her disapproval._

_“Technically all mages are apostates, Cassandra. My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade; far beyond the experience of any Circle Mage. I came to offer whatever help I can.”_

_Her eyes seemed to narrow slightly, though he still smiled._ _“If this Breach is not closed, we are all doomed… regardless of origin.” Seeing the girl still looked at him with suspicion, he turned to Cassandra. “You should know, the magic here is unlike any I have ever seen. Your prisoner here may be a mage, but I find it difficult imagining any such mage having this kind of power.”_

_Her eyes finally turned from him to the Seeker, whom nodded in understanding._

_The rest of the way, he could only hear her voice when it dipped low to make a comment to Varric, unable to make out what she had said, and almost always followed by Varric’s sharp laugh. When they had come to the forward camp, she remained quiet and her body stiffened, as though she was aware of all of the eyes on her. When neither Cassandra nor Leliana could seem to successfully push their opinion on the other, they turned to the girl._  


_“Oh, so now my opinion is welcome?” She only gave her following snark a moment to settle in before answered that the mountain pass would be her personal choice. Cassandra seemed annoyed at this, but Solas personally couldn’t help but agree._

_They quickly made it through the tunnels and through to the other side, finding first the bodies of the fallen, and then the remaining scouts, battling a wave demons at the mouth of a rift._  


_She closed another rift, with seemingly little effort, before he spoke to her again._

_“You are becoming extremely adept at this,” he said as he nodded, this time flashing her his most charming smile._  


_Just for a mere moment, her eyes flashed another squint of suspicion before she visibly forced herself to smile back._

_Then the memory of carrying her feather-light body back down from the temple, her bright grey-violet eyes once again closed behind her (surprisingly dark) thick lashes, and her Vallaslin barely visible, glimmering gold against her cream skin.  
_ He shook his head, slightly flustered at the memory. At the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw she had disappeared.

  

* * *

 

She stood slightly to the right of the front of the apothecary’s small shack, watching Solas.  His grey eyes gleaming intently as he stared off, apparently at nothing in particular. She studied his profile against the sunset; he was all sharp angles and looks, only smoothed by the roundness of his shaved head. She only could tell it was shaved by the barely-there halo of stubble that was only visible backlit. For all of his polite smiles and carefully worded sentences, he appeared to her as a wolf playing with his prey. Or, at the very least, using his presence to alter the behavior of his prey, as she had witnessed more than once before.  

 

She appeared in front of him, struggling slightly to keep her expression straight at the momentary alarm that flashed across his face.

 

“Eliana.”

  
A single brow raised to a surprisingly high arc, questioningly.  
  
“Lavellan. My name. You had introduced yourself…a few days ago? I don’t believe I returned the honor.  
  
She watched as his brow settled and he nodded slowly, his face otherwise not changing. She was not surprised.

 

“The Chosen of Andraste. Most Blessed Heroine, sent to be our redemption.”  
  
“Am I to ride in on a shining steed?” She didn’t bother to hide the sneer she felt lifting her nose, but attempted at humor.

   
“I would have personally suggested a griffin, but they are regrettably extinct now.” She watched as his eyelids lowered, almost unnoticeably, and the corner of his lips quirked into the barest hint of a smirk.  
  
She took the opportunity to really look at his face now: not in the searching way she had before, trying to find the reason why exactly she found him so familiar…so suspicious.  His lips were full and slightly pouty, a perfect cupid’s bow at the crest. His nose, chin, brow, and cheekbones were all sharp and angular, and the color of his eyebrows and lashes (the only evident hair on his body) was a deep auburn. She noted the faded scar above his eyebrow and the hint of crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes, showing through his deceptively young veneer. She was barely able to look into his cold, icy eyes without a sharp shock running down the column of the spine, but she forced her face into her own polite smile.

 

“Joke as you will, but posturing will be necessary. I’ve journeyed deep into the fade – in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes.” He quirked his eyebrow again, and she refused to acknowledge to herself how much she liked it.  
“I wonder what kind you will be.”  
  
She carefully maintained control over her own facial expressions, but allowed herself to perk her own eyebrows up slightly.  
  
“You dream in the Fade, regularly? How…remarkable.”

“It’s not a common field of study. It’s not as flashy as throwing fire or lightning… But the thrill of finding a thousand year old dream... I would not trade it for anything. What exactly do you mean by ‘regularly’?”  
  
“I mean, purposefully. Not as an accident. It’s a wonder you still live, yourself.”  
  
He chuckled, genuinely. It was as close to a laugh as she had heard out of him yet. 

“I set out food for the giant spiders, and wards for the rest.” He suddenly looked pensive, staring just past her before nodding to himself.  
  
“I’ll stay then. At least until the Breach is sealed.”  
  
“Oh, that was in question?” She tilted her head to one side, doubting he would have left any time soon, judging from the curious gleam in his eyes.

“I am an apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry militia….” He frowned slightly to himself until looking at her again and smiling politely again, “Cassandra has been accommodating, but surely you can understand my caution.”

“You offered your help while so many others have fled. I’d hardly allow them to twist your purpose against you.” She heard the words come out, though they didn’t sound like her own. She blinked hard, wondering why she was offering a word of protection to this  _wolf_.   
  
“How would you move to stop them?” He looked wary and confused himself.  
  
“However I had to,” she spoke with determination. She didn’t doubt the truth of these words, though she questioned her own reasoning, regarding more than just this Solas.

 

As she walked towards Varric, he thought about her words. She had seemed unsure  _why_  she had said them, though not whether or not she had meant them. He found himself even more curious about this Eliana, in spite of himself. She was quiet—even her steps were barely above the volume of a shadow.

She seemed unquestioningly friendly, regardless of race: dwarves, human, the elvhen servants…she hardly seemed to notice. In fact, the one person whom he believed she would have been blindly warm to (himself), she kept at a distance.

In fact, she treated him as though she knew him. As though she knew he was not to be trusted.   
  
_Impossible._  He shook his head, as he watched her toss her own head back in deep-throated laughter at something Varric had said. Her white-blonde curls shimmered like so many crystals as they bounced in the light of the sunset. Anyone else would have thought her beautiful.    
  
_I am **not** just anyone else._ He chastised himself sternly as he turned on his heel, walking back into the small house he had been proffered. 


	2. A Trip and A Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana finds herself flirting with Solas, despite her better judgement, and he finds himself already struggling to ignore her. They take a trip to the Hinterlands, and she takes a fall.

After speaking to her new “advisors”, Cassandra had allowed her two hours to pack before they were to set out to the Hinterlands. She had already found a wooden tub full of fire-warmed water ready for her to bathe, and she climbed in with zeal. She scrubbed her hair fiercely as she thought about the mess she had found herself in.....

Josephine was enthusiastic and genuinely sweet, no doubting that. And

The Nightingale was kinder than she would have expected. Cullen was…pretty. For a human. And very shy, making it hard to get a better read on him. But he seemed well-meaning, and easy enough to keep an eye on, should that impression change. Cassandra was passionate, obviously, and not concerned with her being an elf, which was surprising, considering she was technically Chantry. Varric was her unquestioned favorite. Always some smart-ass comment or hilarious tale, always quick to appreciate her under-the-breath sarcasm.  
  
 And _Solas_. He was certainly suspicious. His motives weren’t entirely clear, though he was obviously, to her, not here “just to help”. There was something too… _determined_ about him. He was handsome and intelligent. And he knew it. It helped him get away with being so careful and composed. He came across as some old mage instructor from the Circle. But, as he stated himself, he clearly was not. And she had seen him fight; it had made her wary. He seemed to make a game of it, playing with his opponents and moving so quickly gracefully. But she rather enjoyed earning his smirks and smiles. Even his occasional deep and breathy chuckle had her catching her own pulse fluttering like it hadn’t since she was just a girl.

 _Only foolish rabbits follow the howl of a wolf. Act your age, you silly girl._  
  
She dried herself with the cloth that had been left for her, and then dressed in the sensible armor that had been laid out for her. She packed her things quickly, the towel cloth included, and headed quickly to the blacksmith. She was grateful to Cassandra for the small pouch of gold she had slipped into her hand after meeting her advisors. There were a few more things she might grab…for her own safety.

 

* * *

 

He watched her mount one of the old, tired plow horses they had been provided with (she had selected one of the oldest and weariest, he had noted, as a supposed courtesy to the others). She mounted quickly and gracefully, which was hardly a surprise, and she rolled her hips expertly with each _clop-clop_ of the horse’s hooves. He caught himself watching said hips for a moment too long before forcing himself to look away. She had barely laughed as Varric was, with difficulty, lifted and shoved onto his own mount; just looking on with a crooked half-smile and the slightest crease of concern upon her brow, which was more than could be said for the rest of them. Their accompanying scouts could barely contain their giggles. When they were all finally set, they headed on their way. He rode last of the four of them, completing a diamond shape.

He listened in as Varric told her stories of the Champion, told her what he knew of Red Lyrium, and skirted around the reason for naming his crossbow Bianca. 

“So, Little Bit, tell me about you. What’s your story?” Solas found himself leaning slightly forward to better eavesdrop.  


“What’s to tell?” Eliana shrugged a single thin shoulder. “My clan is Lavellan, from the northern Free Marches. I spent most of my life in the woods or at the edges of small human settlement.” She spoke dryly, as if disinterest.

 

“Do you have parents? Siblings? Any scorned lovers awaiting your return?” Varric pressed, digging for literary inspiration, no doubt. She laughed (rather harshly, it seemed).

 

“No, no. No scorned lovers waiting for the likes of me. They all learned to keep a polite distance from me long ago. My mother is dead, my father joined another clan. I have a younger brother about twice my size and triple my wit.”

She gave the bare minimum information, only expanding slightly upon mention of her brother.  
  
“Was your life always as exciting as it is now?” Varric backed off slightly, sensing her unwillingness to speak of her family anymore.  
  
“Ha! Hardly. In fact, this is the closest to interesting I’ve ever been.” She smiled at the dwarf crookedly, before turning her head once more to look off into the surround mountains.  
Finally, at some snarky comment of Cassandra’s, Varric struggled and managed to urge his mount into pulling forward to speak to the Seeker.

Solas took his chance to talk to this “Herald”.

 

“You seem unusually open to Master Tethras and Seeker Cassandra for a Dalish elf.” She smiled knowingly, getting his point.

 

“Oh, are you allergic to Halla?” He tried to regain ahold of himself as she gave him her first true smile. It was as brilliantly blinding as the sun.  
  
“I have spent more than enough time with the Dalish. You are pretenders; repeating the same misinterpreted stories over and over.” He couldn’t seem to help himself from sneering at her.

 

Her moonstone flesh burned a remarkably lovely crimson. She huffed, and then was silent for a long moment, composing herself after an obvious internal argument. She seemed to decide something to herself, then exhaled slowly and half-turned her face to him, chin high.

 

“Ir abelas, Hahren.” She dipped her chin to her chest before raising it again, turning to look him in the eye. “If the Dalish have done you a disservice, I would right it. “  
  
She offered no additional apology or explanation. He sighed, perturbed himself, before blinking at her slowly, just once.  
  
“The fault is mine, da’len. I hold too fast to what the Dalish could only attempt at, and that is hardly fair.“

 

She looked at him side-long from under those mesmerizing lashes, holding his gaze, and he heard the rush of blood in his ears as he felt his pulse pick up.  
  
“What do you have to teach, Hahren?” Her voice was breathy and low, and he found himself annoyed with his own ears as he felt them hot with a slight blush.  
  
“Any questions you have, you need only to ask, da’len.” He made sure to make his own voice as husky as possible in response, allowing his eyes glint with flirtation as they locked with hers. He heard her huff ever so slightly as she smirked at him and nudged her poor, ancient mount into a clip, obviously exaggerating the roll her hips slightly for him as she rode ahead.

To his chagrin, he realized he did not mind the show. Not at all.

 

* * *

 

She could hear his voice deep and low in her ear, as though he were right next to her. _“_

 _You are pretenders….”_ It had taken a good bit of her willpower to keep from engaging him in an argument. She refused to give him any ammunition to use against her or her people. She would not let him force a rise out of her. He knew nothing of her, nothing of her family.  
  
_It’s best that it remain that way…_

Her nostrils flared just slightly as she forced the memory from her mind, focusing again on Cassandra and Varric as the party all slowed their horses to a halt. They were arguing over someone Varric had named before in one of his tales…Hawke, perhaps?

A scout held fast to her reigns (unnecessarily, she thought) to allow her dismount, and she hopped down before sidling up to Varric, offering her shoulder and hip for him to slide down. He had tried to wave her away, but she had his own mount’s reigns in her hand and wasn’t moving, politely humming and ignoring his dissents. He finally placed a hand on her shoulder and, in her opinion, managed a fairly graceful slip to the ground, never once looking at or acknowledging her in any way that could make her uncomfortable. He hummed a thoughtful consideration of her help, as opposed to his obvious usual alternative. Cassandra looked at her with a surprised smile, as though impressed by her thoughtful actions towards her companion. Eliana giggled quietly to herself, shaking her head just slightly.

She glanced up to see Solas looking at her, his slight look of curious surprise wiping away as soon as his eyes met her own. She allowed her own face to go blank as she turned her head sharply to march up the hill. She could almost swear she heard him chuckle again.

She tied Varric’s mount up next to her own and quickly glanced over her shoulder to see Solas dismount with his usual effortless-yet-careful grace, before she turned to follow Cassandra to the petite and dainty little dwarf lady. Scout Harding seemed somewhat nervous, though incredibly friendly and eager. Eliana found herself instantly adoring of the Scout, and thanked her warmly before excusing herself, much to Harding’s delight.  
She found herself suddenly overwhelmed with affection for Cassandra as well, as they discussed the best way to progress down the hill to the Crossroads. Cassandra’s ability to listen and accept ideas that were different than her own was endearing, even though she sometimes was obviously disapproved of the general concept. 

It was finally decided that Eliana would take point, as she seemed to move the most silently, and they would follow the scouts whilst avoid the main road until they had no other choice.

She fingered the stave at her back, sad to have lost her old one. Her mother had handed it down, and now it was no doubt blown to bits. She took a moment as the others gathered poultices, food, and other supplies.

She missed her little brother, Galifalon. He was all she had left of her family since their mother’s passing the year before. Her father had left them for another woman—a Keeper—at the Arlathvhen three years before that. He might still live, she thought bitterly. Galifalon had been courting a girl when Eliana last saw him. He was a hunter, and quite a bit taller and more solid than she. They had both been hunting partners when, to the surprise of the entire clan, her magic developed quite late in life. When her magic finally became impossible to hide, she had been confronted by Deshanna. She knew she was officially the fourth mage in the clan, and traditionally, could not stay. Deshanna was kind enough to allow her to stay close for a while, so she and Galifalon could train his new partner, and they could spend some time together before…..

She shook her head violently before turning to her companions, asking if they were ready. They looked at each other before nodding slowly to her, obviously unnerved at her repeating the question back to them; she hadn’t heard them when they asked.

 

            They headed down the hill slowly, and Eliana could count the footsteps behind her, keeping her awareness of her surroundings without turning her head. Even the soft, barely-there whisper of Solas’s footsteps were clear enough for her to hear. Though, she suspected, he only made enough noise to allow her to hear him. He was obviously trying to make her more comfortable by humoring her instinctual need to account for her company.  
           As they approached the road, she slowly slid her staff from her shoulder and gripped it tightly at the sounds of fighting. Throwing herself out of the brush in between a very large Templar and Apostate, she focused her energy through her staff and shocked them both violently. She then slid sideways into the Mage’s feet, landing him hard on the ground, before she popped up to slam the butt of her staff into the right eye of the Templar. She could hear her companions fighting others around her, but she allowed herself no time to look around before freezing the Mage solid as he tried to stand. Sliding a thin dagger from a holster at the waistband at her back, she flung herself at the frozen figure, thrusting the dagger in at a crack before twisting it sharply, causing the Mage to shatter into a pile of half-thawed body parts.  
            Swiftly she turned to another Templar, merely a scout, and slid between his knees, thrusting her dagger into his thigh and easily using her momentum to pull the blade horizontally, effectively severing his femoral artery and, unpleasantly spraying herself with his blood.

As she straightened to right herself, she had focused her attention on the voices of her entourage, particularly Solas’s deep voice calling out. _Big mistake,_ she realized as she felt the full impact of a shield-bash from the large Templar from before; his right eye an unsalvageable bloody bulge and his left squinted and tearing uncontrollably. She felt her head crack against the pave stones beneath her, bouncing twice, and the following warmth of blood spreading beneath her hair. Her staff had been knocked several lengths away, unreachable. She gasped for air as she realized the wind had been knocked from her lungs, but she managed to roll onto her stomach, sliding her hand out to trip the Templar. He landed atop her, and they both shifted to face each other as they tussled on the ground.

Pulling herself on top and straddling him, with the last of her energy, she used her magic to energize the other dagger she had slid from her inner thigh holster, slamming it as hard as she could through his skull, right between his eyes. As she felt his body go limp, she allowed herself to roll off of him, still gasping for air. As everything began to go dark, she saw the reflection of the sun off of Solas’s scalp, and the last thing she remembered was his faint chuckle and ( _was that, truly…?_ ) a look of concern in his steely eyes. Then her eyes fell shut and she was welcomed by black nothingness.

 

* * *

 

“She’s one tough little nugget, huh, Chuckles?” Varric stood over him as he set her upon a cot at the Crossroads refuge healing tent.  
  
“Mmm.” Solas didn’t bother answering; he felt his agreement had been obvious enough.  
  
“Why would a Mage fight that way, though?” Varric absentmindedly scratched his chest hair as he thought aloud.  
  
“H…H-Hunter…” She mumbled quietly as she opened her eyes slowly, squinting as she struggled to sit up.  
  
Solas pressed her shoulders, slowly but firmly, so she laid back down on the cot. He could feel the gentle pressure of her resisting him, but he was stronger, and she was too concussed to focus.

  
“”Lie still. I have not even begun to heal you.” He let the magic slip through his fingertips into her body. She let out a long groan and then a small, sharp gasp, realizing the pain in her lungs. He slipped one hand to the gaping crack at the back of her skull, letting his magic suture the bone and quicken the mending of the skin, until only a small scab was left. He then hovered one hand over her mouth while placing the other hand in the center of her chest. She gave a huge gasp as the bruised ribs healed and her lungs filled fully again.  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she coughed and choked, trying to sit up again despite his hand still pressing her chest down.  
  
“Don’t be willful, da’len. Venavis.” He raised an eyebrow, looking at this tiny wonder struggling before him. She was a just a slip of a thing, and it occurred to him that she was most likely malnourished. She was only a few finger-widths shorter than Cassandra, but she was still fairly small for one of The People. She seemed to be all arms and legs—long, slender, and deceptively strong—and while her chest could be considered lacking, she had remarkably wide hips for an Elvhan. She looked hauntingly more like The People he remembered than a modern Dalish elf.

 

“You’re quite scrappy for a Mage, Little Fox!” Varric chuckled, helping to lower her head back onto the cot. Solas felt his brow furrow slightly at Varric’s nickname for the small Dalish girl, but he composed himself quickly, settling for lifting an eyebrow in curiosity.

  
“You’re quite an unusual sight. You said you were a hunter? I thought Dalish Mages just stuck to healing.” The dwarf was obviously trying to distract her from trying to get up again, and Solas met his eyes briefly with a nod of gratitude as Varric winked back at him. 

“Ah, well….hhhnnckk hhnncckkk…” She stopped briefly to cough violently, spitting up a small spot of blood onto her hand. It was dark, which meant it was from a wound that was already healing, so she carried on.  
“I was a bit of a…late-bloomer to magic. I was a hunter first.” She glanced at Solas briefly out of the corner of her eye, as her ears pinked slightly with a blush.

 

 _She was embarrassed._ _Adorable._  
  
He had to resist the urge to chuckle again, and mentally berated himself for finding her insecurity endearing. He wasn’t going to find himself attached to her.

 

 _She is merely a child_ , _wielding_ my _anchor like some kind of toy; I am obligated to baby-sit._  
  
“Your Keeper has failed you, da’len. You will be taught how to properly use your magic without flailing about the battlefield like a loose arrow.” He realized how he sounded: like an old, cranky Hahren. He steeled his brow to match his words. Hopefully she would find him a source of knowledge, and otherwise, a necessary bother.  
_Nothing more._

As if she could hear his thoughts, she turned to look at him with a ( _infuriatingly_!) bright grin.  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Hahren.” He felt as though she stared _into_ him, and he gazed back at her with his usual heavy-lidded indifference, unblinking.  
  
A low whistle from Varric broke them from their trance.  
  
“Get a tent, you two, _jeez!_ I could cut the tension over here with a knife! Better not let the Seeker see you, Chuckles; she’ll refuse to leave our Little Foxlette alone with you un-chaperoned.” The dwarf walked away cackling as Solas dropped his eyes and felt the heat rush to his face. He didn’t look at the girl to see her reaction, but as he went about healing her arm, he could feel her pulse sputter under his fingers, drawing the tiniest of smirks to his face and she slung her opposite arm over her face.  
  
He glanced over to see the Seeker approaching with a Chantry Mother.  
  
“Lie still, Da’assan. I’ll be back to finish in a moment.” As he slid away, he heard her giggle at his endearment and when he felt sure none of their group would see him, he allowed himself a real smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da'len: Little one, Child  
> Ma serannas: Thank you  
> Venavis: Stop, Cease  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish/as you demand  
> Da'assan: Little Arrow
> 
> Sorry again for my painfully rusty writing skills. I AM working on it, I swear.


	3. Dinner and a Scare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana finds Solas's teasing more unsettling than flattering; he seems to be metaphorically (or perhaps more literally) "playing with his food". He startles her at dinner, only to actually strike some actual fear that night. Solas also gets called out by Varric, to his chagrin.

After meeting with Mother Giselle, the small troupe didn’t have much daylight left to do anything, aside from a bit of hunting. The refugees would be having ram for dinner, and so, it appeared, were the companions. Eliana couldn’t believe how long the day had been; the ride to the Hinterlands alone had been roughly 6 hours, and they hadn’t stopped for lunch before she had thrown herself into the way of that charging Templar.   
  
_That’s what you get for listening to the howl of a wolf, Eliana._

  
She reprimanded herself again as she slid back into the circle of firelight from behind a tent. They had returned to the forward camp just as the sun had been setting, and she had disappeared into the darkness for a moment to mentally assess her day.

 

_How in the name of Fen’Harel did you get yourself caught up in this mess?_

 

She had little-to-no memory of the day or so leading up to the explosion at the temple, but she recalled why she had been sent there. She ought to write a letter to Deshanna…But no doubt The Nightingale would read it, and that would hardly help her goal of getting out of here as soon as the Breach was closed without anyone knowing _too_ very much about her.  
  
She walked back over to where Cassandra and Varric bickered back and forth, each trying (and failing) to skin their dinner successfully. She sat next to Varric, who gave a start at her sudden appearance, and gently tugged the meat out of Cassandra’s hands, leaving the warrior her own knife. Eliana slung them each her crooked grin before deftly severing the animal hide from the muscle.   
  
“Little Bit, you can’t just creep up on a guy like that! You nearly gave me a heart attack! I know I’m old, but I didn’t think my hearing was that bad.”   
  
“Your hearing has not failed you completely, Varric. She makes not a sound when she walks, though Maker knows how.” Cassandra had seemed to warm up to her slightly, and Eliana had become enamored with the lilt of the Nevarran’s heavy accent.  
  
“Cass. I could listen to you talk forever. Though, perhaps not to Varric. You fluster too quickly.”

 

“I do not _fluster_! I get frustrated! You make me sound like a young girl! Varric could not _fluster_ me.” The warrior blushed, but grinned at her new Herald in spite of herself.  
  
“Oh, Seeker! You wound me deeply! Though, I suppose I would rather make you _swoon._ ” He throws the Seeker a wink, and is met with one of Cassandra’s signature scoffs.  
  
Eliana merely smiled and lowered her eyes, making quick work of skinning their dinner-to-be before handing it off to Varric to be cooked.  
  
“Here I was thinking I was getting out of doing any work. Thanks a lot, Little Bit. Seeker, look at her grin! She’s a little Foxlette for sure.”  
  
“She certainly does have a sly smile. A wonder anyone could trust a smile like that.” Solas steps up behind Cassandra, making his footsteps loud enough to announce his approach. Once again, Eliana thought it was certainly on purpose, and only for the benefit of his company.   


_Says the hunter to his prey,_ she thinks bitterly, turning her head towards him sharply; though her smirk was friendly and teasing, her eyes had regained the fleeting squint of suspicion. He returned with his own wolfish grin, and the gleam in his eyes was down-right predatory. She refused to show her shudder at the chill that ran down her spine as their eyes met.  
  
“Mm.” She barely lets the noise out, low and disinterested, pursing her lips into a wry smirk and dropping her eyes to focus on skinning the piece of ram that Varric had originally been butchering.   
  
Varric and Cassandra greet him and then carry on their bickering, and Solas drifts to the opposite side of the fire, standing just behind the felled logs serving as their makeshift-benches. She can feel his eyes watching her through the flames, and she is aware that the hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. Against all her instincts, she forced herself to ignore him. Despite his “Charming Hahren” act and the little endearment he had quipped earlier, she was no longer concussed, and refused to act so foolishly unguarded for him to witness again.

 

Eliana handed off the second mass of ram meat to Varric before standing slowly, allowing her muscles to stretch one by one, from her toes, feet, and ankles, all the way up to her neck as she rolled her head slowly from left to right. Then she silently padded over to her rucksack and dug momentarily before pulling out a small book and a piece of charcoal, and pacing over to sit half way between the dwarf and warrior, and the elf, who watched her the whole while. She sat just outside of the ring of firelight, her back against a tree, and let her eyes adjust to the slight dim before she began scribbling in the book.   


None of her companions asked what she worked on; only Varric and Cass talked amongst themselves while they prepared the dinner, as Solas reclined against the logs and read some book that looked ready to fall apart in his long, elegant fingers. She allowed herself to ignore them again. Before she had really become aware of the shape her sketch was taking, she heard a deep hum behind her.  
  
“Hands?” Solas stood looming over her, completely in shadow, and she let out a low hiss of annoyance before re-sheathing the dagger she had drawn and hating the flush of pink she felt spreading over her ear.

 

* * *

 

            She had become so absorbed in her actions, Solas knew it would be nothing to slip from his place and into the brush behind her. He had intended to ignore her, _tried_ to, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He had been sure to make his foot-fall heard before, but it came more naturally to him to move silently, as she did. Had she been paying attention, she would have sensed him closing the distance behind her, but without the noise to alert her, he was able to get close enough to smell her rosewater- and wood smoke-scented hair.   
  
“Hmm. Hands?”  


She had barely moved, only snapping her head around to him, her eyes following his legs up to his body, throat, mouth…and finally his eyes. He heard the quiet but unmistakable sound of her dagger sliding back into its sheath, and then he sees she had snaked her right hand to a cord hanging between her small breasts, the shape of the sheathed dagger now barely visible as it slipped back down into her tunic. Her daggers were mostly flat, so they were largely unnoticed against the leather and buckles of her leggings, and the billow of her slightly-oversized tunic.  
  
_Ah, so that makes four. One at her shin, another upon her opposite inner thigh, one in her waistband at her lower back, and this one between her breasts. Clever, da’len. A Foxlette, indeed._

  
  
“Ah….Yes. I suppose they are.” She glanced at her sketch, brow furrowed, and then quickly glanced up to place the Seeker and the dwarf.

  
_Not to worry, da’len. They’re keeping an eye on us, making sure you’re safe. Well, as safe as you can be…_  
  
She flicked her eyes back to his, as if she had again heard his thoughts. He slowly crouched beside her, not returning her gaze, but keeping his eyes locked on her sketch. He was enjoying his little game.  
  
_There shouldn’t be a game at all. I shouldn’t be drawing her attention at all.  
_ But he found himself hungry for it, despite himself.  
  
“Whose hands have the honor, I wonder?” He now glanced up at her, her eyes mimicking his own signature half-lidded indifference, though he caught a glint in them. He heard her inhale through her nose, as a hunter does, to memorize his scent.  
  
“I won’t be coy, Hahren. They’re yours, this time.” She spoke so calmly, never taking her eyes off his, and he admired her voice for the first time. It was the sound of an arrow being released from a bow, the sound of bare feet on well-packed earth, the sound of raindrops evaporating as they fell on a roaring fire. So many conflicting sounds, but ultimately low and quiet and huskily feminine.   
  
_I do rather like timbre she gives to the word “Hahren”._

He didn’t mind that it was a tease, as well as a courtesy. It sounded alluring in her quiet voice. He noticed he hadn’t once heard her shout or scream.  
  
_I wonder what lovely noises that little throat can make.  
NO. No. Stop that thought there, Solas._

 

“Is this how you see my hands, da’len? So feminine.” He kept his face passive, blank, even though her crooked grin was coming back and her eye sparked with mischief.   
  
“’Elegant’ and ‘feminine’ are not always synonymous, Hahren. Masculinity can be elegant, though it’s not often seen.” He very nearly blushed at that, but his competitive nature would be remiss to let her see any success. He maintained his passive composure.   
  
“Oh, so you find me masculine and elegant?” He purred, and even in the faint light could the gentle color be seen rising across her cheeks and ears as she bit hard into her bottom lip. She drew a little blood, but she didn’t move or blink or swallow for a moment before whispering.  
  
“Sometimes.”  
  
It was the quietest of little jabs, but he knew she was teasing him. His eyes were fixed on the bead of blood sitting on the pillow of her bottom lip, and he would almost swear he could smell it. He slowly lifted his thumb and pressed it against the little nip, pressing his magic into it, healing it, before rising silently and walking slowly back to the book he left resting on the log.  
  
_You absolute fool. Why did you do that? Her lip would’ve healed by the morning, anyway. Am I so weak I would let this child tempt me into failure again? Am I so weak to be unable to resist the chance to touch her lips? Not again. She won’t garner any more of my attention than necessary._  
  


* * *

 

Her bottom lip felt as on fire as the rest of her face, but luckily he did not look back at her. She had felt her entire body buzzing as he crouched down to look her in the eye.  
  
_Dread Wolf, take him! I am no man’s prey._  
  
She furrowed her brows determinedly, and felt her nostrils flare slightly in anger. Whether it was anger towards Solas or herself, she wasn’t sure. She got up and walked back towards the fire.  
  
Just then, Cassandra had stood up and stretched her arms wide before looking at her.  
“You did not eat. Aren’t you hungry?”  
  
“Not particularly.” Honestly, now she just felt a little ill, as her stomach had finally stopped its fluttering.  
  
“You must eat, da’len. You are already weak, and you have not eaten all day.”  
Solas knew just what to say to make her spiteful enough to eat…He hadn’t even glanced up from his book.  
  
_“You are already weak….” I’ll show you weak, Wolf._  
  
“Nadas, Hahren” She hissed the words at him. She bit viciously into the slice of meat she had been handed by Cassandra, barely managing to swallow when she heard his pleased and rather haughty chuckle.  
  
“Woah there, Chuckles! What’ve you done to piss off our Little Bit?”  
  
“Mm.” Again, Solas just chuckled briefly before turning a delicate page with a single slender finger.  


Cassandra and Varric looked at each other, bemused.  
“Elves…” Varric shrugged.  
  
“You will share a tent with me, Herald. I am off to bed. We have an early start” Cassandra finishes with a yawn and another stretch before crawling into one of the two tents, and Eliana follows, looking to Varric and Solas a bit defeated.

 

* * *

She crawled out of the tent after only about two hours. Varric had climbed into the other tent shortly after she and Cassandra retired, and the unbelievably loud snoring of both the Seeker and the dwarf seemed to almost harmonize.   
  
“Couldn’t sleep?” She didn’t jump, but she stopped dead, reaching for the neck of her night shirt before pausing, and then letting her hand drop. Her other hand continued to rub the sleep from her large almond eyes as she stood still and looked at him.   
  
“Who could with that battle-racket in their ears?” She barely twisted her lips in a grimace, but it was fleeting.

 

Now he looked over her, noticing how truly opalescent her moonskin looked on her bare legs. Her feet looked tiny, unshod and slender, looking so natural against the naked earth. Her night shirt hung to about mid-thigh, billowing slightly in the gentle wind, and the moon made it glow like her skin; appearing deceptively translucent, though only her general figure was possible to make out under it, and the shape of the dagger hanging on the cord beneath.   
  
_She really is lovely. So child-like in her shamelessness._  
  
The Seeker would throw a fit if she knew this da’len was out of the tent so bare.  
He chuckled, both to her comment and to himself.   
  
Her dusty-violet eyes seemed bigger, somehow, adding to her child-like appearance. She seemed restless, as though she were about to sprint out of her own skin and into the woods, even though she hadn’t so much as twitched a muscle since letting her other hand drop. She blinked once, slowly, and tilted her head. It was almost feline. She truly was a tiny wonder.

 

“Copper for your thoughts, Hahren?”  
  
“Da’len, you don’t have enough copper to afford them.” He tried to smile gently, but she half-scoffed.  
  
“Ah, but I forget. Your knowledge is too vast and worthy for the likes of a Dalish child.” She almost sneered, but, to her credit, she seemed to catch herself. Instead she just let her lips part slightly with a sigh, her almond eyes almost sad…as if she believed her own sarcasm.  
  
“Vast, yes. But not too vast, and certainly not too worthy. Knowledge is always preferable to ignorance, da’len.” He says it fondly, and catches the momentary look of what _resembled_ passion and hunger in her eyes...before it disappeared behind another half-lidded look and another slow blink. A lazy, sleepy blink. She looks away suddenly, and up to the sky, absently running her slender fingers though her hair, half-heartedly lifting it off of her neck and on to a pile atop her head.

 

He can make out the faint scar of an animal bite on the moonsilk flesh of her tiny, delicate throat. From the size of the scars, it was a very large animal. He wanted to trace the marred skin with his fingertips….but she dropped her hair suddenly, turning her head back to look at him.

He looks down and realizes he has taken a couple steps toward her, but he doesn’t remember moving. The space between them is still several long strides, but the tension is coming off her body like heat. She looks slightly like a trapped animal, but she holds her ground firmly with her tiny naked feet.  
  
_I could catch you now if I wished, da’len. So fragile, so delicate, yet so brave. What a pleasure it would be to break you._

 

**_No._ **

 

He turns around and takes his longest, smoothest strides into the forest, away from her.

 

* * *

 

She finds herself shaking like a leaf. He hadn’t said anything before walking off into the woods. He had looked mechanical, almost. Turning on his heel and walking in that way that only he can.

The way he _looked_ at her….She shivered again, though the night is surprisingly balmy warm and her skin is hot.

 

She feels the weight of her exhaustion again, and sits down next to the still-glowing embers of the faded fire, leaning against one of the logs, curling her knees in against herself.  
  
The last thing she sees is the memory of his grey-blue eyes on her, looking slightly crazed and almost not at all familiar of the quiet, arrogant, and reserved Mage she had come to know….  


* * *

 

He had kept his distance after that night, and neither of them spoke of it. Perhaps she had though she had dreamt it. Cassandra had woken to find the Herald curled into a ball on the ground, sleeping so serenely that, for a moment, the Seeker believed she was panicking over a dead body.

Now they packed their things after spending a week helping the refugees with a few more supplies, and mount up for their return to Haven. Eliana had insisted that they go to Val Royeaux immediately. The sooner they got the mages to help her close the Breach, the sooner she could flee. Solas was all too aware how desperately she wanted to run, but her resolve in helping seemed unwavering. He was surprised.  
            Varric pulled his mount up beside hers, his feet unceremoniously sticking out, unable to reach his stirrups.

  
            “You okay, Little Bit?” He eyed her weary posture and dazed eyes, sure she was ill.

 

“Oh, yes, my joy. Just so tired. Always tired.” She offered him her sincerest smile. Solas saw through it to the fear, uncertainty, and, yes, the pure exhaustion underneath.   
  
He smiled to himself, listening to her call Varric and the Seeker endearments. He noticed that she never said them in Elvhan, only in Common, where the words seemed much more lighthearted, much less _intimate_. And they weren’t the condescending pet-names used by nobles; never “Darling” or “Dear”. There was no arrogance to them, and her two friends seemed to sense that, embracing her charm, so easily won over by her sweet demeanor. She genuinely liked them, and they were already wrapped around her finger.

 

He was almost startled when he realized that the dwarf had slowed his mount and was now riding next to him.  


“Master Tethras.”

 

“Chuckles, you’re watching her pretty hard. Trying to push her out of the saddle with your mind?” Varric kept his voice low enough that she wouldn’t have heard him, even if she had been paying attention. Solas gave him a small smirk.  
  
“I believe it’s my job to bandage her up should she come to harm, Master Tethras. Why would I create more work for myself than she already does?” Varric laughed quietly, then glanced at Solas with a knowing look.  
  
“Who wouldn’t want to spend more time with their hands on her? You don’t fool me, Chuckles. You look at her like a wolf looks at a nug. She’s got an undeniable magnetism.” Solas fought to keep his face passive and disinterested.  
  
“She is charming, certainly, but her little endearments have no magic for _me_. She is merely a child, playing a very dangerous game, and she will do as she feels is necessary to save her own skin.”  
  
“And what lovely skin it is,” Varric winks at him. “She’s not so much a child as one might think, though compared to _you_ , sure. She looks younger and more naïve than she is. And her game is deadly, yeah, but she’s smart enough to know when to make friends. Can you blame her for wanting to get out of this alive?”  
  
Solas frowns slightly, mulling it over before conceding.   
“No, Master Tethras, I suppose I cannot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da'len: Little one, Child  
> Nadas: Inevitable, used here in the manner of "Obviously" or "Duh".
> 
> I hope I'm improving at least slightly....


	4. A Dark and Stormy Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one has to know....
> 
> Guess who gets to share a tent?!?

Eliana sat astride a new mount Cassandra had purchased for her—a beautiful cream-colored Strider she had named Da’assan, much to Solas’s amusement—and mulled over their progress. The trip to Val Royeaux had been what could technically be deemed as fruitful, as they had received an invitation to visit the Mages in Redcliff, and now had the highly esteemed Madame de Fer and the charmingly foul-mouthed and strange Sera in their return party to Haven.  
            Lady Vivienne was obviously a very powerful politician, as well as a mage. Eliana found her lovely and clever at first, but as they spent the last week of riding together, she now found that the Madame grated her nerves.  
            Sera was alarming and blunt, completely tactless, but she didn’t seem interested in the background of the Herald, and she didn’t bother with backhanded bullshit. If she disliked something, she didn’t hold back. Besides, she was fun. It was amusing to witness her merciless taunting of Solas, and she generally seemed to bring a lightened mood to the whole group, the Apostate not withstanding.

 

            _At least someone is able to visibly ruffle his feathers._

  
She thought back again to the scene in the square at Val Royeaux with no small uneasiness. She could care less at the behavior of the Chantry sisters, but the Lord Seeker bothered something deep insider her that she couldn’t quite shake. She could feel something not unlike magic radiating off of him, but it felt dark and twisted. It left an unpleasant taste in her mouth.  
            She glanced over to Cassandra to see her own brow furrowed and deep in thought. The Seeker abruptly looked up at her and smiled, before calling over her shoulder to the rest of the group.  
“Let’s make camp for the night. We should finally reach Haven by late-afternoon, tomorrow.”  
  
There was a sudden, unexpected crash of thunder, and they all looked up to see a dark cloud appearing where it had just before been the dusky orange of sunset.  
  
Everyone quickly dismounted (Varric accepted begrudgingly the rough assistance of Sera), and they began unpacking their tents as Varric set to work on starting a fire. Eliana, after helping Vivienne finish setting up her tent, was briskly grabbed by Sera and pulled by the hand to a stream behind some brush a few meters away. Briefly confused, she realized the intention of the blonde elf when several waterskins were thrust into her arms. She knelt beside Sera and filled each one. She heard the others come up behind them one at a time, slightly farther down, refilling even more skins.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Sera smirked at her, freckles more obvious somehow in the dim shadow of the cloud overhead.

“I don’t feel my input necessary very often,” she shrugged.  
  
“That’s alright, innit? You don’t waste breath ramblin’ on about ‘Her Glowy-Ladybits thinks this’ and ‘Her Heraldy-ness demands that’. You listen more.”

 

Eliana laughed briefly, “I’m not a noble. I’m Dalish. We don’t talk unless there’s something to say.”

 

“You’re not _too_ Elfy for an Elfy Elf.” Sera seemed pleased by this, so Eliana didn’t respond with more than a smile.

 

There was another loud crack of thunder, and the skies opened up. Rain fell so hard, it was like being struck by stones. Everyone at the creek seemed to screech on cue and ran back to the tents. Eliana finished filling the last skin she was holding before scooping up the rest and jogging behind them. As the last to arrive, she noticed Cassandra and Vivienne in one tent, Sera and Varric in the next, and only she and Solas still stood in the rain beside the final tent. Cassandra waved her over enthusiastically, but Vivienne looked at the Seeker as though she had just grown antlers.

“Three of us are _not_ going to fit in this tent, Darling _._

Cassandra pursed her lips and called over to Sera, “Sera, share a tent

with the Herald. Varric, you and Solas can share a tent.”

“Not on yer life!” Sera called out, followed by Varric’s complaint that he and Sera were mostly dry.

 

He wasn’t going back out in the rain to share a tent with Solas who, “No offense, Chuckles, but you probably smell like wet dog.”

Solas merely rolled his eyes, and Eliana cut them all off.  
  
“This is unnecessary. Solas, we’re both already soaked. You’ll share with me.”  
  
“Herald, that is most inappropri—” Cassandra and Vivienne both started.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Eliana was firm in retort before walking into the tent. Solas made no move to follow.  
  
She lifted the tent flap. “Solas. You’re being absurd. Come now.” Her eyes were as stern as her voice, and he nodded his head once before walking over and slipping into the tent behind her.

* * *

 

 Solas stood wordlessly with his shoulders hunched inside the tent so as not to graze his head on the roof. He stood with his usual composed expression, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He watched her as she sat on her bedroll and unlaced her Shem shoes before dumping the water from them. She next began to unfurl her leg wraps before looking up at him, slightly annoyed.

“Oh, Creators, Solas. Stop acting like you’ve been invited to watch me bathe.”  
  
“I think I might have preferred that situation to this one,” he said calmly with his usual blank expression, though finally moving to sit on the opposite bedroll, facing away from her.  
  
He watched out of the corner of his eye as she turned to look at him, surprised.

 

“Did I just hallucinate, or did you just flirt with me, Wolf?”  
  
His eyebrows shot up, his turn to be surprised.  
  
“Wolf?” He kept his voice even and curious, though he felt more than slightly panicked.  
  
“Oh, did I say that out loud?” She laughed slightly. “It’s just what I call you to myself.”

 

“And what is it you find so wolfish about me?” His voice rather stern now, as he fought to maintain his expression of polite curiosity.

 

She turned crimson at this, and murmured just too quietly for him to hear.  
  
“Hmm?”

 

“Well, you are rather intimidating, aren’t you? You study people silently, watching their movements and listening to their words, but always looking as though you’re fighting the urge to attack. Perhaps not physically….I don’t know. You just seem….”  
  
“How do I seem, da’len?” He was aware his voice had dipped low, and looking at her throat, he could see the flutter of her quickening pulse just below her moonskin.  
  
“Dangerous. Ir abelas, Hahren.” She whispered the apology quickly, ducking her head and turning away.  
  
He chuckled lightly, hoping to set her slightly more at ease, but her shoulders visibly stiffened. He slipped his tunic and shirt off, hanging them over the center bar to dry some, laid down on his back, hands lazily folded over his stomach, and closed his eyes. 

He peeked just slightly at the sound of her glancing over her shoulder at him before she pulled off her own tunic and shirt, then wriggled out of the soaked leggings—with no little difficulty. She stood in her smalls and breast-band with her back to him, before slipping the breast-band off too, and sliding a large, dry sheep’s-wool tunic over her head. He noticed how it landed just above the crease of her bottom against her thighs, a perfect curve of gooseskin-covered flesh.

            She now was fighting with her hair; the leather cord she had used to tie it into a plait had become knotted in her locks, and she struggled in vain to remove it. Before he could seem to stop himself, he had sat up and taken her hand, pulling her to sit in front of him with his face to her back.

He deftly slipped the knots from her hair one at a time, noticing the deep crimson blush of her ears and hearing the pounding of her heart. He pulled the mass of the braid off of her neck now, removing the cord easily, before running his long fingers through each overlap of the plait, loosening her hair free.

            Again he saw the scars of a bite on her neck and unthinkingly, he brushed his fingers against them, each one individually. He started at the lowest one, near her collarbone, and followed them up in their gradual arc until he had brushed against her ear, placing his fingertip on the uppermost scar. She shivered slightly under his touch, but neither of them moved away for a moment.

He came to his senses and quickly pulled his hands away, stopping briefly only to finish shaking her hair loose and out over her shoulders. He then immediately lied back down, rolling onto his side so he wouldn’t be facing her.  
  
_Wolf, she says. Well, she’s not wrong._

  
He furiously closed his eyes and tried to shut out the noise of her hitched breath and the sound of her eventual crawl into her bedroll.

 

* * *

 

She was dancing, grinding between her mate and a male she had known as Eolas. The dance was natural to her: primal, as though written in her very blood. She knew she was sweating, but it was part of it all: the dancing at every Arlathvhen. She felt the spiced Elvhan wine coursing through her veins as she looked up into the eyes of her Laleal. Her mate’s eyes flashed brightly and she hummed with incited pleasure into Eliana’s ear. Never before Laleal had she felt the word _Mate_ so tangibly, hitting her heart so strongly, so purely. They danced on; the moon shining brightly on their skin, making it glow. The freckles flecked across Laleal’s nose and cheekbones excited something deep in Eliana; her dance grew more passionate.  
Looking across the clearing, she glimpsed the wolf with six eyes sitting just outside the circle of the firelight, all of six eyes glowing brightly. She stopped suddenly, feeling Eolas and then Laleal’s body fade away from hers, until she was very awake.  
  
She sat up straight, gasping for air. Her heart slammed against the inside of her chest so hard, she could feel it through the woolen night shirt she was wearing. With her hand over her heart, she breathed in deeply and fearfully, forgetting where she was until she glanced over.

 

Solas was rolled towards her, leaning up on one elbow, staring at her intently.

 

“Are you okay, _lethallan_? The way he held each syllable in his mouth before he let them fall from his lips was intoxicating.  
  
“Ah. Yes. Bad dream.” She wasn’t about to discuss her past with the Wolf.  
  
“It didn’t seem so bad.” She whipped her head to look at him again, sharply.  
  
“What do you mean, Hahren?” She almost choked on the words.  
He merely shrugged, lying back down to stare at the ceiling of the tent, still overwhelmingly loud with the pitter-patter of rain.  
  
“You were smiling. Ma brithem. Irlahnash.”

 

Her cheeks flushed again, but she felt….angry.  
  
“It was a memory. From a long time ago. Something I had hoped to forget.” She whispered bitterly, barely audible.

 

“Ir abelas, da’len.” Solas whispered back.

  
She rolled away from him, a single sob slipping out. He didn’t say anything more; allowing her to lay curled up, shaking violently with silent tears.

 

* * *

  
He had seen part of her dream. She was like some fierce warrior goddess of old, grinding between two Dalish. He may not have been terribly fond of the Dalish, but their dancing could hardly be discredited. It was feral, passionate…almost violent. He had witnessed how the male behind her had pulled her hair roughly, causing her to moan with unadulterated pleasure. It stirred a heat inside him he had not felt in centuries.  
            He also watched as she kissed the female in front of her….whilst heated, it was almost tender….Eliana’s eyes sharp with desire and affection for the woman as they rubbed their bodies together to the rhythm of the drums.

 

Solas was aware he was invading. This memory was private. He should not have sought her out, though her anchor glowed in the Fade like so many hearthfires. She then looked dead at him.

 

He was pulled from sleep by her gasps. He saw the fear on her face, the heartache. She dismissed him quickly, rolling over. He only heard a single, heart-wrenching sob slip from her lips before she shook quietly in her tears.

 

Once he was sure she had fallen asleep again, fully unconscious, he reached over and slid her body against his own. He brushed her hair out of her face, slipping behind her long, sharp, elegant ear, He reached around her stomach, pressing her small frame against his own, whispering a long-forgotten Elvhen lullaby into her silk hair as he slowly dozed off.

 

When he awoke, he was aware it was a good while until dawn. She had wrapped her long legs around his own, her pelvis pressed almost roughly against his hip. Her head was tossed back with abandon, and her mouth was slightly open, as if waiting for a lover’s kiss. Her white-gold hair was strewn about both her own face and his bare chest. She murmured something indistinguishable and moved against him in his sleep—her hand sliding down to grip his hipbone with surprising strength.

  
He abruptly, though gently, rolled her back onto her own bedroll, facing away from him, though he had already noticed that same heat spreading through his loins again. He shook off the feeling as he sat up, immediately grabbing his shirt from the center pole overhead and pulling it over his body.  
  
As he tugged the shirt down to reach his hips, though, he noticed the unmistakable marks of her fingernails in his flesh. He could heal them now, and they would disappear forever, no one the wiser….but instead he reached for his tunic and thought to himself that he could keep them for a little while… _this little secret for himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short!! Just a little bit of a teaser....<3 Muah!!
> 
> Ir abelas: I'm sorry  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da'len: Little one, Child  
> Lethallan: (F) Kin, familiar acquaintance  
> Ma brithem: You looked happy.  
> Irlahnash: At home/in love.


	5. Reassurance and a Slight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly expositional; allowing for some forward movement and deepening the understanding of the characters and their world-views. Borderline-fluffy with all the heartwarming support Eliana is shown. I know I've done little to provide much background or insight, but I'm trying to fix that.
> 
> Sorry for the brevity of this chapter. As soon as I can get some work done, I'll have a much longer chapter up. Thank you so much for those of you who have read and left Kudos! Any comments or messages with advice or criticism are wholeheartedly welcome! I just ask that you don't make me cry....
> 
> <3 <3 Muah!

As strange as it felt, returning to Haven was a surprising relief. She never would equate this place to her home, but it did give a similar feeling. She left her horse in the tiny stable and walked towards the gates, Cassandra matching her stride and walking along side her, pursing her lips together in a grim look.

            “I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, Cass, but you have a lovely smile. I’d like to see more of it.” Eliana was trying to “step-lightly”, so to speak.

            Cassandra shot her a look of annoyance before shaking her head and giving the elf a sheepish, half-hearted smile.  
  
            “I am sorry, Eliana. I feel the whole world on my shoulders sometimes, and I forget how very much you must feel the same. The behavior of the Lord Seeker has…rattled me.” Eliana nodded, glancing down at her worn boots.

“There was certainly something…ominous about all of it, wasn’t there? Though the same could be said for every situation I find myself in, lately.” The Seeker grinned suddenly, glancing at the Herald side-long.  
  
“Speaking of which, how was sharing a tent last night with our Apostate?” Insinuation dripped from every word, and the entire group had noticed when neither of the elves would so much as look at each other since the night before. Eliana looked Cassandra dead in the eye with her usually politely blank face.  
  
“He was a complete gentleman. He didn’t so much as glance my way.” Her brow furrowed slightly and she looked down. “Actually, he doesn’t seem to like me much.”  
  
_Luckily, I’m not here to gain his friendship._

 

“He does seem rather disinterested in all of us. I would not take it personally. He is probably just eager to return to the woods.” Eliana glanced up to see the barest hint of a joke playing at the corner of Cassandra’s lips, and she chuckled, lightly shoving the Seeker’s shoulder as they walked into the Chantry, though she was met only by unmoving muscle.   
  
_God, this woman is a solid as a mountain. She could probably take down Cullen…Speaking of whom…_

Cass and the elf looked up to see all three advisors practically running towards them.  
            “We heard what happened at Val Royeaux…” Josephine looked blatantly alarmed, the usual quill in her hand was flitting back and forth across her lips.  
  
“You heard? Already?” Cassandra’s brow was deeply furrowed.

 

“The Lord Seeker’s unusual behavior is enough to make many tongues wag.” Leliana was the only one who seemed unconcerned. “Perhaps now would be the best time to contact the Mages.”  
  
“I still think the Templars are our best option!” Cullen’s voice raised, slightly defensive. Cassandra again agreed with Cullen before turning to the Herald.  
  
“Well, it is truly up to you, is it not, Herald?” Everyone noted how she flinched at the title.

 

“Is it really, though? You are all the leaders here; you are all in charge. You’ve merely given me the title of a figurehead.” She didn’t pout as she said this. She was voicing what she saw to be true. She watched all of their faces soften slightly; Cullen glanced away and rubbed the back of his neck as though embarrassed.  
  
“ _You_ are no figurehead,” Cassandra spoke firmly, looking into Eliana’s eyes.   
“ _You_ are trying to close the Breach just as hard as anyone else. _You_ go out into the field with us and fight. _You_ are risking your life for this, more than any of us. So, truly, yes. It is your decision and—regardless of my personal opinions—I will support you.”

 

Eliana felt her chest swell at the Seeker’s words, and at the vehement nods of the rest of the advisors, even though Cullen looked as though he had bitten into Witherstalk. She nodded slowly, casting her eyes down again.  
  
“Then, to Redcliffe. I believe we have an invitation to honor.”  
  
Cassandra, Josephine, and Cullen (whom she noted seemed slightly sulky) wandered off to the War Room, but Leliana had caught her wrist and brought her in close.  
“I have a small favor to ask.” She murmured lowly.  
  
“Nightingale.” Eliana bowed slightly at the waist. She had heard stories about this powerful woman nearly all her life; even among the Dalish she was respected for her…talents. Eliana was not interested in crossing her.

 

“I have been looking into a strange phenomena; the Grey Wardens seem to be disappearing. I have only managed to track down one, a Warden Blackwall, surprisingly residing as close as the Hinterlands. I though, since you’d be heading that way soon…” Leliana tilted her head with the implied suggestion.  
  
“I will certainly make it a point to find him if I can, Nightingale. The Spymaster smiled genuine and nodded at her gratefully before Eliana turned to walk back out to the courtyard.  
  
“Oh, and Herald?” Eliana glanced back to see Leliana had stopped, calling over her shoulder without turning to look at her. The elf held her breath.  


“Please, call me Leliana. ‘Nightingale’ sounds so…menacing, and I should like to think you and I would be friends.” The elf released her breath and laughed gently.  
  
“Only if you would be so kind as to call _me_ Eliana, or at least Lavellan. When keeping up appearances aren’t so necessary, of course.” Leliana turned her head now and smiled at her, nodding in acquiescence.   


Eliana slipped back out into the bright late-afternoon sun when she was met by a woman in her early-to-mid thirties and dressed entirely as a male, even down to her soldier’s crew-cut and her breasts bound tightly to accommodate her armor.  
  
“Excuse me, is there someone in charge I could speak to, perchance?” Even her voice was rather deep. Eliana didn’t think to judge; many women of own her clan chose to live their lives as the men.

“Uhm, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know who to direct you to that isn’t busy, at the moment. Is there a message I might carry for you?”  
  
The woman….er… _Man_ ( _Definitely ‘Man’, Eliana decided_ ) unflinchingly handed her a scroll, and straightened her spine, chin in the air.  
  
“Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant of the mercenary company, The Bull’s Chargers. Our Leader, The Iron Bull, extends an invitation to join us on the Storm Coast. Some Vints are planning a crossing over to set up camp along the shore, and he thought you might be interested in seeing what we can do for the Inquisition.”

 

Eliana thought briefly as she looked around the small town, noticing how few recruits they had, before responding.  
“When do you leave, Lieutenant?”  
  
“At first light, Miss.” Eliana nodded, hearing the stomach of Cremisius growl.  
  
“Let me talk to some people, and I believe we’ll join you. Have you eaten, Cremisius?”  
  
“No, Miss. And please call me Krem.”   
  
“Well, Krem. I’m Eliana. Or Lavellan, if you prefer. The tavern is down that way. It’s not the best food, but it’s better than nothing.” She pressed two gold Sovereigns into Krem’s hand before gently nudging him off. She glanced over to see Solas looking at her from his usual post near the apothecary, raising a single eyebrow, and she made no face in response before turning and heading back into the Chantry.  
  
Back in the War Room, she handed the scroll to Leliana to look over while explaining the interaction to the rest of the advisors.  


“The Chargers?! Oh, of course! They’re quite renowned amongst the Nobles in Antiva!” Josephine reminded the elf of an excited da’len at her first Arlathvhen.

  
“We don’t need _mercenaries_! How could we even trust them! Their loyalty is based on _gold_ —of which, might I remind you, we have very little!” Cullen was nearly red in the face with frustration. Eliana eyed the little scar on his upper lip and realized how really very attractive he was. She caught herself wetting her own lips as she looked at his.  


_Cullen probably already hates me; an elf, a mage, and choosing not to recruit the Templars. No reason in trying to change his mind now._

  
“Listen.” Her voice quiet as ever; barely more than a gravelly whisper. The room fell silent as they all looked at her.  
  
“You have all asked me to make serious choices, and I have. And though I respect your opinions and desire to hear them, you had only a short time ago told me that you all would follow my lead.” She went from left to right, looking them each in the eyes, lingering on Cullen’s a splinter of a moment longer than the rest.   
  
“Our numbers are low. While we are getting new recruits every day, Cullen alone is responsible for teaching them to fight, and he has plenty of other things to do. Not only would these mercenaries thicken our ranks, but they could be very useful in educating our trainees in both traditional and non-traditional fighting styles. And if they become an issue, it’s simply a manner of cutting off their pay and sending them off, no?”

Leliana was smiling at her now, proudly. Josephine’s eyes were alight with surprise and understanding, and Eliana could see her mentally going through each point she had made, nodding to herself after each one. And then there was Cullen, once again rubbing the back of his neck and looking down, cheeks red with frustration.  
  
“ _And_ since I don’t know exactly what I’ll be walking into at Redcliffe, it wouldn’t hurt to have a little more muscle on our side. So, if you have a problem with me, Cullen, go ahead and explain to the others why I shouldn’t be making any more decisions. If you need me, I’ll be packing for the Storm Coast.”

 

At this last bit, she turned on her heel, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her. She was aware that her voice sounded sharp at the end, stinging her conscience with guilt, but either Cullen was going to take her seriously or not.

 

“Herald, wait!” Before she reached the front door of the Chantry, she heard Cullen call out to her.

 

She turned and stood in place, not willing to walk towards the man who was both a head and shoulders taller, but also as wide as two of her standing shoulder-to-shoulder. He was large, but she was quick, and would run if she needed to.  
  
“Herald…” He stopped in front of her, his voice shaking slightly before trailing off. He didn’t say anything else, just once again rubbed the back of his neck.  


“Commander, I don’t know if it’s because I’m a Mage or Dalish, but your contempt for me is really beginning to become troublesome. You don’t have to like me, but I’m only trying to help.”

 

She found her voice sounding sharper and more impatient than she intended, and she could see the horns atop Lady Vivienne’s head over Cullen’s shoulder, peeking around a stone column to listen in. The Commander looked first confused and then shocked at her words.

 

“Pardon me? No, Herald, I apologize for my behavior. I forget sometimes that I am no longer a Templar. Your being a Mage truly matters very little; it’s just a poor habit left over from my training that I come across so distrustful. Truly, you have been very honest and kind with everyone, by all accounts, and you don’t deserve my suspicion.”  
  
“So, it _is_ my knife-ears then?” She nearly growled at him.  
  
“NO! No, I often even forget you are an elf…”She gave him a cutting look before he stuttered to explain, “I-I mean, I don’t _forget_! That was the wrong word…. What I meant to say was that it doesn’t hold any point of concern for me. You are, just as any human or dwarf, a _person,_ and that is how I see you.”  
  
It was her turn to look embarrassed, and she bowed slightly.  
  
“My apologies, Commander. I am not used to being thought of as a peer to any human.” He smiled at her warmly, though his eyes were slightly woeful.  
  
“And I am not used to being around so many people who are magically inclined. I am still learning to trust, and I beg your patience.” She smiled at this and bumped her arm against his elbow.  
  
“We’re all learning, Commander. Unless I’m mistaken, this is the first time any of us has done this before.”

* * *

 

  
Solas had watched her make her rounds, asking who would be so kind as to travel with her to the Storm Coast. Varric, Sera, and Cassandra had all seemingly agreed, and when Vivienne walked towards the tavern for dinner, he saw Eliana matching her stride step-for-step with surprising ease.

 

“Please, Madame? I can’t be the only Mage in the party, I can barely cast a barrier.”  
  
“Absolutely not, darling. I business here to attend to, and I will not be subjected to the wet sand and endless rain. Have you any idea the cost of these clothes?” She gestured to her wardrobe, and Solas saw Eliana roll her eyes as Vivienne stepped into the tavern, all but shutting the door in the small girl’s face. She ran a hand over her face and sighed before looked over to where he stood.  
  
He leaned against the wall of the cabin, a book in one hand and an apple in the other, one foot propped against the building behind him. He raised a single eyebrow as the girl approached him, but didn’t look up from his book.  
  
“Solas?” Her voice shook slightly. The wind was blowing a chilled wind down from the Frostbacks, and she wasn’t wearing a coat or tunic.  
  
“Hmm?” He still didn’t glance up.”  
  
“Would you…ah…consider joining us for the Storm Coast in the morning? My magic is hardly adequate on its own.” He now looked at her, his upper lip barely hinting at a sneer.  
  
“You’ve hardly given me any time to prepare to leave again, da’len. We’ve only just returned this morning.” She ducked her head shamefully.  
_I am the very last person she asks...The child has some nerve._  
  
“Ir abelas, Hahren. I understand.” She moves to turn around and walk away, and he finds his hand reaching out to grab the back of her shirt collar, pulling her back towards him.  
  
“I will come. Though, I am insulted you would ask me last. Go buy a new coat, da’len. And boots.” He said it sternly, looking her dead in her wide, frightened eyes before releasing her.  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Hahren.” Her voice was barely a whisper before she disappeared, moving so quickly and silently, the only evidence she had been there was the light impression of her boot prints in the snow in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’len: Little one, Child  
> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, My apologies   
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish
> 
> I've been mostly using DA Wikia as my source for Elvhen, so I apologize if I'm butchering it.


	6. Den Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silas gets all maternal, and Eliana gets over herself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so short, I've been out of town for a funeral and now I'm writing my fingers off. I'll probably have another, longer chapter up by tomorrow. 
> 
> Thank you all SO much for your support. I am having so much fun writing this, and I hope you're having just as much fun reading it. Sorry I'm not better at humor...I've never been terribly funny, except on accident. Anyway, I am so grateful to all of you, and hope you can bear with me while stumble my way through learning how to write again.

* * *

 

She couldn't understand Solas, no matter how she tried. One moment, he was distant, aloof, and even sometimes as if she were some burdensome child foisted on him. The next, he's like a stern Hahren-- insisting she wear a coat so she doesn't catch a cold, keeping vigil by her bedside every time she hurt herself doing something reckless.   
Just before first light, she heard a sharp knock on the door of her cabin. 

_Cassandra can't even give a girl an extra few minutes of extra sleep before she's all business_.

 Rolling out of bed, she considered tossing a robe on over her chemise, but with another sharp, slightly more impatient, knock on the door, she shrugged and abandoned the thought, throwing the door open.

Solas was standing at the thresholds, barely glancing at the state of her immodesty before stepping past her inside and closing the door behind him.  
She was suddenly aware of the volume of her heartbeat slamming against her chest. Before she could choke out a word, he had begun to speak.  
"Pardon the intrusion, Herald. I merely came to make sure you had acquired new boots and a coat."  
"Ah, no...I'm afraid Messere Harritt had retired before I could ask him if he had any spares."

"Make yourself decent. I'll be waiting outside." Solas scoffed slightly before exiting the cabin.

_The absolute Gall of that man! It seems I ought to be calling him "Babae"._

She dressed quickly in her warmest tunic and stepped outside to meet him. He did not even glance at her before walking off towards the blacksmith. She found herself merely following behind him like some lost pup, pouting all the way.  As usual, he seemed to pay her no mind; taking his long, casual strides, shoulders back, head held high and standing tall with his hands clasped behind him. He was the epitome of confidence.

They approached the small smithy and Solas rapped sharply on the door. Harritt opened it, still in his night shift and hat.

"Messere Harritt, do you happen to have the new boots for the Herald that were requested?"

"YOU ordered new boots for me?"

"No, da'len. Cassandra did. I just happened to mention that you needed a new pair, and once she witnessed the state of your current boots for herself, she agreed. Now Harrett, would you happen to have any coats that might fit the Herald?"

"Are you kidding me, Solas? I am perfectly capable of dressing myself."

"Oh? Because you seem to have been wandering around without proper winter wear." He glanced at her shivering form pointedly.

"At least, _I'm_  not barefoot!!"

Harritt didn't bother to react to their argument, just shoved the new boots into Solas's hands and gestured to a trunk in the corner near the forge before closing his door again, grumbling all the while about the early hour.

Solas dug through the chest, lifting out various leather coats and setting them either to one side or the other. Eliana realized he was splitting them up into ones that might actually fit her and ones that wouldn't.

He held up several from the pile to his right, eyeing them against her, before handing her three for her to try on. Two of them fit perfectly-- one was Great Bear hide, and the other was a slightly matted black-brown, unidentifiable to her. The rest were put back into the trunk, and Solas left three gold sovereigns on the lid.

He began to walk back towards the main gates, not waiting for her as she gathered the coats and boots.

"Solas!"

"Eliana." He stopped and looked back over his shoulder, not turning to face her. She didn't know that. She had ever heard him say her name before, and it rather weakened her knees.

"I don't need a Babae." She heard her voice shake as she said it.

"What _do_  you need, da'len?"

She didn't really know. Her mind felt suddenly clouded and she was rushed with nameless emotions. She merely stood there in the snow for a long moment. She didn't answer.

"You had best get anything together that you haven't already packed. We leave at first light." She thought she heard the slightest hint of something like pain or regret in his voice under the flat, indifferent tone. She watched him walk away, leaving her standing alone again....

And she realized that she felt disappointed, and, though she hated herself for it, hurt.

* * *

 

She hadn't spoken much over the last four days. She hadn't spoken to him at all. 

They had been moving quickly, barely stopping to camp or sleep, and had reached the close enough to the coast where the rain had begun to be constant. They were all drenched, cold, and miserable; the rain blessedly made it harder to hear Sera's constant whining.   
Eliana was riding at the head of the group, along side the Tevinter, Krem. They seemed to have a pleasant banter, and Krem was kind enough to allow Eliana her silence when she preferred it. Solas looked at her now. Her jaw was set firm, determined, and her eyebrows were once again knit tight. The shadows under her eyes showed her exhaustion, but the raindrop on her eyelashes gave her eyes a brightness that made his chest feel tight. He hadn't once seen her wear the coats he had gotten for her.

_Spiteful little da'len._

She was too proud to accept gifts, because she  _knew_  she was not their "Herald". He caught her flinches whenever anyone called her that. He noticed her posture straighten, stiffen, and realized she had glanced over her shoulder to see him looking at her. He had been rather careless in his staring.

_I'm becoming foolish._

She slowed her horse slightly to meet his mount's stride, not looking at him.

" Hahren, what do you know of Dalish elves? Are all clans like my own?" Her voice was calm and measured, but genuinely curious.

"No, yours was unique enough to be interested enough in human politics to send you to the Conclave. The clans have been separated for so long, they all have changed independently from each other.  Some others trade with humans, but tensions are always high. Some are mere bandits, snatching away what isn't theirs and fleeing. There are some who have vanished entirely into the forests, unseen in generations."

"Hm." She seemed to mull this over briefly. "And City Elves? Like Sera?" She still hadn't looked at him.

"The elvish in alienages and Tevinter slavery are like so many other impoverished and oppressed peoples; they practice a few rituals to distinguish themselves from humans, and they try to remember the tales of better times."

She looked at him now, chin down, eyes lifted up to his own. Her face was sad underneath her calm expression, but her eyes held a melancholy sweetness.

"And the Ancient Elves?" Her voice came out low and gravelly again, and he had to look away before he could answer.

"The Halamshiral that the Dalish strive to remember is but a shadow, an attempt to recreate what came before it...."

"Arlathan." She breathed the word, barely a whisper. His heart skipped just once.

"Elvhenan was the place. Arlathan was its greatest jewel; the capital city." He looked back at her now, seeing in her eyes something he could not recognize, but her voice came full of wonder.

"What was it like?" Again, barely a whisper, but dripping with awe.

"We hear of them living in trees and we think of wooden ramps and Aravels pulling them higher into the canopy. Picture instead towers of crystal, rising, twisting and winding through the branches; endlessly reaching into the skies. Castles floating amongst clouds, glimmering like so many jewels.... Beings that lived forever, to whom magic was as natural as breathing. That...is what was lost." He realized that he had all but whispered the last sentence, and looked back into her face again.

" _Oh._ " Her voice was full of pain and reverence. Her head was tilted slightly back, her eyes shut, and her lips were slightly parted. She blinked her eyes open again and she looked at him; he could see the tears that had welled up, but they did not fall. She merely looked at him steadily for a long moment.

"Ma serannas, Hahren." Her voice was even again, but full of gratitude, and she nudged her mount into a clip again to catch back up to the Tevinter.

_Ma_ _serannas_ _, da'len._

 

Not long after, they were approached by Inquisition scouts, bowing with their fists across their chest. 

"Herald, the forward camp is just ahead. Scout Harding is waiting for you. You'd best hurry, there are bandits out here, we're missing a scouting party, and dark is coming quickly behind all these clouds."

Eliana thanked the scout warmly, and nudged her horse forward again. Solas pushed his own mount closer to hers, so he could hear her speak to the Tevinter.

"Krem, are you staying with us at the camp tonight?"

"No, your Ladyship. Bull is expecting those Vints on the shore by the morning, and I wouldn't hear the end of it if I slept in your cozy camp. Plus, if you're late for the show in the morning, I might miss a good fight." The Mercenary grinned at Eliana, and Solas heard her chuckle. 

"Suit yourself. I won't be late. Cassandra is very punctual." 

She nodded to the dim fire of the forward camp and everyone chimed in a friendly goodbye to Krem, who had bumped his heel into his mount and rode fast past the campsite off towards the shore.

"You can hear the waves." Solas slipped off his mount and reached out his hand to help the Herald down from her own. She laughed and shook her head at the gesture, though she slipped her hand into his own as she dismounted.

_So graceful._

She lifted her chin and tilted her head -- he watched her long neck, searching for the scars there -- lifting an ear and closing her eyes as she listened.

"I've never heard the sea." She said it rather wistfully, but the smallest smile curled at the corner of her lips.

She opened her eyes to look up at him again, and he could see her weariness behind the faint pleasure in her eyes.

"Hopefully the sound will allow for better dreams. Sleep well, da'len."

He turned and walked away, into the shadows at the edge of the camp, but he could hear her whisper his name.


	7. Etunash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana gets an unusual and anonymous gift, meets The Iron Bull, antagonizes Solas, kicks some serious Blades of Hessarian butt (getting injured in the process, of course), and Solas both says and hears things he wishes he hadn't.

Eliana woke up just as soaked as she had been for the last day or two. Luckily, Harritt had managed to waterproof a few packs before they had left, so she had dry clothes to slip into before going out to get drenched again. She pulled on her dry leggings and shirt before tugging on the matted black-brown coat Solas had picked out for her. She hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction before, but she was sure that, though it wasn’t exactly chilly here, she’d catch a cold if she didn’t wear it now.

As she stuffed the other dry clothes back into the rucksack, she caught sight of a cloth she didn’t recognize. As she pulled it out, she saw it was a deep green scarf: the faintest hint of worn and faded gold thread, embroidered in a leaf motif she recognized as distinctly elvish, but not in the simple, tribal style of the Dalish. On the side of the embroidery, the cloth was the weight and texture of tent canvas. The opposite side was soft and almost plush, like fleece or suede. 

  _Where in the Fade did this come from? This isn’t mine…_

It was obviously meant to cover her hair, keeping it dry. She couldn’t decide if it was a gift or not, but it was certainly going to be a blessing. Her hair had been unmanageable with the constant rain. She dried her hair quickly with one of the toweling cloths in her dry pack, and braided it haphazardly up into a loose chignon before wrapping the long scarf around her neck twice, and finally pulling it up over her head as she stepped out of the tent. 

Sera was the first one she saw, sitting facing her on a log while Cassandra sat opposite, her back to Eliana. Her face was playful, despite the frustration of her hair sticking against her head and face, looking as though she had been dunked into a tub.

 

“Oy! Fancy hood, eh? Tha’ an elfy han’-me-down?”

 

Cassandra had turned now, and while soaked, her own hair looked the same as ever, as though she was made for this weather.

 

 “Herald, it is lovely. I had been under the impression you had lost all of your possessions in the blast?” She almost sounded suspicious, but it was half-hearted. She had long-since changed her mind about the guilt of the Dalish girl.

 

“Oh, I thought one of you had stuffed it in my sack? I found it just now.” Their eyebrows went up simultaneously at the awareness that Eliana really _didn’t_ know where it had come from.

 

“OoOoh!! Our Little Bit has an admirer!” Varric sauntered over, Bianca slung over his shoulder, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

 

“ _You_ didn’t put this in my sack…?”

 

“ ‘fraid not, Foxlette. Maybe it was Chuckles?” They all turned to look at the approaching elf as he walked towards them from the small potions desk on the other side of the tents.

 

“My apologies, but I cannot claim any credit on the appearance of this object.” He shrugged and looked, as usual, disinterested and detached, hands clasped behind his back.Eliana tried to hide her confusion and slight panic at this as she herself shrugged.

 

“Oh. Well. Harriet probably just stuck it in there and I didn’t see it before. I’ll have to thank him.” 

 

“Your Worship!” Scout Harding suddenly appeared at her side.

 

“Scout Harding, my apologies for being so brief last night. I’m afraid I didn’t allow us to stop to sleep much on the way here, and we were all very worn out.”

 

“Not at all, Herald. For what it’s worth, welcome. Like I mentioned last night, we’ve made very little progress here. One of my scouts told you about the bandits already. We’re missing some of our soldiers; they went to talk to the bandit leader and we haven’t heard back. Our party is so small….” 

 

“We’ll do what we can, I promise. I have an…appointment I have to attend first, but then we’ll try to find our men before we head back to the Hinterlands.

 

“Thank you, Your Worship. And, enjoy the sea air,” She smiled bitterly, “I hear it’s good for the soul.”

 

They packed up their gear and headed off towards the shore, not bothering with their horses. The location they were meant to be at was just off the edge of the cliff the camp was settled on. They slipped and slid down a slick gravel path, Cassandra grumbling at Varric every time he slipped and fell into her. The reached the bottom of the slope, and Eliana lifted a hand to sign for the company to stop and quiet down as they peeked around the rock face to the beach. 

 

There were sounds of fighting, and her eyes searched the sandy battlefield for the familiar face of Krem. Once spotted, she realized that the men the Chargers were fighting were all dressed the same, so it was easy enough to pick out who the mercenaries were from their mismatched armor. She glanced at Cassandra, who nodded, and then to Sera, who grinned—an arrow already taught against her bow string. She then flicked short glances at Varric and Solas, who were also already holding their weapons. They charged.

 

Eliana once again flung herself into fighting, using her staff not only to fling magic, but as a blunt weapon. She slammed her staff into the ground, electrocuting several Venatori near her, before pulling her legs straight up and using the staff to support her body as she kicked another charging Vint in the chest. As she landed, she pulled her staff from the sand to send a ball of fire straight into the soldier’s face, leaving him unable to fight as he screamed in agony. 

 

She then turned to see a rogue appear before her, carrying two snake daggers. She was going to get cut, there was no avoiding that, but she managed to side-step him enough to leave the slices nonfatal. She slid on the wet sand, dipping low and tripping the rogue with her staff, sending him rolling right into the great axe of…

 

_The Biggest Person I’ve ever seen…_

 

The giant just laughed, and she realized that the fighting had stopped around her. She allowed the composure to return to her face as she studied him quickly. He was, firstly, huge. He stood twice her size, and four times her width. His immense pectoral muscles were exaggerated with two straps—one running beneath them, and the other diagonally across his chest to hold the armor onto his gargantuan shoulders. His skin was weathered and deeply scarred, and he had an eye patch over one eye, tied on to his massive horns. 

 

“Chargers, stand down!” His voice was booming thunder.

 

“Krem, how’d we do?”

 

“Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead.”

 

“Ha! Alright! Let the throat-cutters finish up and then break out the casks!” He turned to Eliana again, smiling in a friendly manner. 

 

“So, you’re the Inquisition, eh? Glad you made it! Take a seat, have a drink.”

 

“Iron Bull.” Eliana didn’t ask; it was obvious. 

 

“Yeah, the horns usually give it away. I believe you met my Lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi.”

 

Krem nodded and smiled at her briefly before informing The Iron Bull that the throat-cutters were done, and they jokingly insulted each other. The Qunari turned back to Eliana with a chuckle.

 

“So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition could use us. _You_ especially need a bodyguard.”

 

“How much is this going to cost me, exactly?” Eliana raised an eyebrow at The Iron Bull’s chuckle.

 

“Oh, it won’t cost _you_ anything. We’ll have Josephine—your ambassador, right?—she’ll set it up.” He watched her face closely as her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion.

 

“Yes. Josephine. Have you been acquainted?” Her voice was dangerous, daring him.

 

“Ah, well. That’s the catch here, isn’t it? This might piss you off, but it _could_ be useful to you.” When she didn’t respond with any more than pursed lips and raised eyebrows, he continued. “So, I’m Ben-Hassrath. Qunari secret-police.”

 

“A spy.” She said it flatly, and he smiled.

 

“Yes. They sent me to join the Inquisition. Before you start, no, it’s not about taking over Thedas. They’re just as freaked out about that hole in the sky as everyone else. And since Tevinter seems to be involved, they want to make sure the Inquisition can handle the situation.”

 

“I’m waiting for the point.” She looked at him, holding her expression. 

 

“Well, I have to send reports back to update the Qun on your progress, etc. But I _also_ get reports from agents all over Thedas. And if you take the Chargers on, those reports are all yours. Or, well, your little Nightingale’s.”

 

Eliana finally let out a chuckle, and shook her head.

 

“We need all the help we can get, so I’m not exactly in a great position here. We’ll take you on, but there are conditions.”

 

“Of course.” He nodded as though this had been expected the whole time.

 

“All of your outgoing reports go through Leliana. Anything she deems unfit to send gets you in a world of trouble. Also, your men have to assist our Commander in training our troops. The more of our men that die, the less likely you get to leave the Inquisition alive.” 

 

“Perfectly reasonable.” He nodded, yelling for Krem to seal up the casks, drawing a groan from the rest of the Chargers.

 

“Wait.” Cassandra had stepped closer now, eyeing the Chief warily. 

 

“Why would you tell us you were a spy? Does that not defeat the point of infiltrating the Inquisition.” Bull laughed heartily.

 

“Your little Nightingale is one of the best spies alive. I would’ve been found out sooner or later. And hearing it from me now spares us all a lot of trouble further down the line.”

 

Cassandra still looked displeased, but Eliana just laughed before turning and heading back up towards the camp.

 

* * *

 

 

Solas was practically fuming with frustration after his conversation with the Qunari. Eliana had split the group into two, sending Cassandra, Sera, and Varric to try and track the location of the bandits’ camp while she, Iron Bull, and Solas headed further up the coast, climbing steep slopes in the rain to try and find the last known location of the missing soldiers. 

Solas glanced up at her; she was wearing the scarf, hiding the side of her face, but the damp strands of white-gold hair that had slipped loose from her braid were tumbled around by the wind. He suddenly felt slightly calmer, seeing her ahead of him, climbing up the slippery gravel like it were a tree she had scaled a million times. He noticed her new boots and one of the coats he had given to her, and he almost smiled.

 

_My stubborn da’len._

**_No._ **

_No. Not_ my _da’len._

 

He huffed slightly, frustrated with himself, and the noise made her glance back at him.

 

“Need a break, Hahren?” She smiled mockingly, but her eyes showed a bit of worry. 

 

“No, da’len. I need you to move faster.” He kept his face stern, his voice annoyed. The tiniest of sneers began to wrinkle her nose before she turned away and—suddenly she was running up the slope, not once slipping or sliding back down. She was at the top of the slope in mere moments.

 

“Fast enough for you, Hahren?” Her tone was almost disdainful. The Iron Bull laughed behind him.

 

“What does ‘Hahren’ mean? ‘Old-man’?” 

 

“Yes—“”NO—“ Eliana and Solas answered at the same time. Still climbing, he shot her a look.

 

“A Hahren is an Elder, or a teacher. It is _usually_ a term of respect.” Solas gave her another sharp, dangerous  look, and this time he saw her eyes grow slightly wide—just for a moment—and the barest hint of a shiver run down her spine.

 

_Oh, yes, da’len. You will get your punishment for that. Insolent child._

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t got her calling you ‘ _daddy’_ ,” Iron Bull said suggestively with a chuckle, keeping his voice low so she couldn’t hear. Solas scoffed, but otherwise ignored the Qunari. They had almost reached the top, and he realized she was no longer visible standing at the edge.

 

“Where’d she go?” Iron Bull sounded worried suddenly, still keeping his voice low. They reached the top and looked around, seeing only overgrown sea grass and a few trees. Then Solas’s eyes landed on the men in black armor; they were barely more than rags, but it was as close to a uniform he’d ever seen on bandits. Solas grabbed the Qunari’s horn and pulled him down, so they were both crouching low in the grass. He kept scanning the area until his eyes landed on the bodies of several dead Inquisition soldiers and…

 

_Oh, Eliana. Oh, no, no no._

 

He suddenly couldn’t breathe. She was lying on her front, eyes closed, a hand draped over the wrist of one of the soldiers. Then, she opened her eyes, looking right at him. 

 

_Thank Mythal…She’s alive._

 

His breath caught. He realized she was hiding in plain sight. Her hand on the dead man’s wrist had been searching for a pulse. She shook her head very slowly, almost imperceptibly. They were definitely dead. She now made eye contact with The Iron Bull, flicking her eyes towards the men milling about in front of the dilapidated cabin behind her. There were only four or five left; the rest presumably headed back to their base, leaving these men behind pick off any scouts that came by looking for their missing friends. She looked at Solas again, eyes wide, trying desperately to convey something without saying anything. He just nodded slowly at her and signaled that they would move on his mark.

 

_I hope she’s thinking what I think she’s thinking…_

 

He lifted his finger… _1,_

_2,_

 

Just before he lifted his last finger, he spread his magic out to her, covering them all with a barrier…

 

**_3_ **

 

The Iron Bull charged towards the men, roaring, and Solas followed slightly behind him, slinging spells at the two archers, taking them down quickly. They had made a slight arc to the right of Eliana, so as not to draw any attention to her. Now she was bounding up next to him, flashing a wink and a grin, before throwing the butt of her staff just past his head. He turned to see she had hit a rogue that he hadn’t seen seeking up behind him. He used the blade at the base of his own staff to thrust down through the center of the downed rogue’s neck. He glanced back over to see Eliana twirling around her staff like a dancer, weaving in between Iron Bull’s axe swings, tossing balls of lighting to stun the men before the Qunari cleaved them in half. They had finished the small bandit party off in such a short time, and he caught himself having to hide a smile as Eliana and Iron Bull laughed together, the small Dalish girl still dancing around him. Solas had never seen her behave so…free.

 

_She’s always so reserved. She is so lovely when she smiles._

 

“We make a pretty good team, Boss! You’re a quick little thing!” He bent in half to teasingly lean his elbow on her head, as though he were resting his weight on her. She shoved him off, laughing and spinning away again.

 

“And you’re a _Mountain!_ Did you see the looks on their faces? Fendhis!” Then she glanced over before dancing over to Solas.   Her face dropped its smile, and she looked at the ground between them.

 

“Ir abelas, Hahren. I was rude in my teasing. I am grateful for your constant wisdom and help.” Her voice was quiet, and as childishly high as he had ever heard it. Her apology was genuine.

 

He leaned in slightly and grasped her chin in his forefinger and thumb, lifting her face to look him in the eye. He felt the heat rushing into her face, saw the pink spread over her ears and the pulse flutter in her neck. He looked down his nose, eyes half-lidded, and watched as her lips parted just slightly.

 

“It is unwise to tease me, da’len,” his voice was barely louder than a purr. “I bite.”

 

He heard her breath catch in her throat. Releasing her, he turned away; allowing himself a small smile before heading towards the cabin where the Qunari had already entered. 

 

“Bull, find anything?” She was just a step behind him.

 

“Yeah, Boss, back here.” He called from another room. 

 

“It’s a note about the ‘Blades of Hessarian’ and something about a ‘Crest of Mercy’ required to challenge their leader?”

 

“So, I suppose we can presume that the ‘Blades of Hessarian’ are what the bandits are calling themselves.” Solas stood, hands behind his back, looking bored. Eliana’s brow was furrowed.

 

“Hessarian was the man who ended Andraste’s suffering by stabbing her, right? He’s considered a symbol of The Maker’s mercy in Andrastian theology. How merciful can these Blades be if they’re killing soldiers and scouts indiscriminately?”

 

Both Solas and Bull looked at Eliana in surprise. 

 

“How does a Dalish elf know so much about the religion of Andraste?” Solas looked at her, trying to hide his suspicion behind curiosity. She shrugged and widened her eyes innocently.

 

“I read a lot. Plus, if they’re going to keep deluding themselves that I’m The Herald, I should probably know _a little_ about the nonsense, right?” She spoke like it should all be obvious to them, and they followed her back outside.

 

“So, you don’t believe in The Maker and all that?” Iron Bull asked, scratching his head.

 

“HA! I don’t even believe in _my own_ gods, Bull. Anyway, the materials needed for the ‘Mercy’s Crest” are written here, so we’d better get back to base camp and see if we can make one of these things. And I’m sure Cass, Varric, and Sera are waiting for us.” She turned around and walked back towards the gravel path, sliding with surprising carelessness back down the slope. 

 

Solas saw Bull staring at him in disbelief, but Solas never took his eyes off Eliana as they followed her back down the hill.

 

* * *

 

 

When they returned to the camp, Varric and Cassandra were eating lunch, and Sera was splayed over a log, groaning, with an empty bowl on the ground beside her.

 

“What’s for eats?” Bull called, jolting them all slightly with his booming voice. 

 

“Shite. Friggin’ soup. Boiled-Nug-bone shite soup,” Sera whined.

 

“You seemed to have enjoyed it, Sera.” Eliana grinned at her devilishly as she scooped the empty bowl off the ground and ladled the broth from the pot on the fire.

 

“It is not like we have a lot to work with,” Cassandra said, flashing a look of annoyance at Sera before turning to the Herald. 

 

“ We found the bandit camp. It is heavily fortified; I do not know how we will get in. Any luck with the missing soldiers?” Eliana plopped down between her and Varric, who tried to smile at her with his cheeks full of soup.

 

“Luck wouldn’t be the word I’d choose, Cass. The missing party is no longer missing, they’re dead. We managed to take down a few of the other guys.” Cassandra’s shoulders fell slightly and she huffed. 

 

 “Well,” Varric finally swallowed the soup and said, “we’re not getting into _that_ party without an invitation.”

 

“Good thing Bull found us one, huh?” Eliana smiled as the hope came back onto their faces.

 

Bull passed Cassandra the notes he found, and Varric read over Eliana’s shoulder before getting up with purpose and walking to the Requisition Officer standing nearby. He listed the needed materials, and Cassandra wondered aloud about the Blades of Hessarian. Eliana didn’t say anything this time, and when she looked over at Solas, she couldn’t quite determine whether the look he was giving her was one of disapproval, or an attempt to warn her to keep silent. 

 

_Either way, I’m not about to have a discussion about my opinions on Cassandra’s religious beliefs right now. Hopefully, I never will. She clings too tightly to them, and I don’t want to alienate her._

Varric was back quickly enough with the materials, and he and Cassandra went to work on assembling the pieces as Bull and Eliana ate their lunch and Sera tried to irritate Solas to death. Before long, they had the Crest and Eliana stood up, dusting off the back of her leggings.

 

“Alright, let’s get this etunash over with. I’d like to be back by dinner.” She smiled to herself as she heard Solas’s surprised “Ha!”, and they gathered their weapons before setting back out into the wet, grey hills.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had all gone over fairly smoothly, if one didn’t count the Herald breaking a leg and taking a rusty sword through the stomach. Solas flinched at the hemorrhaging gash. At least she had been able to get her own dagger through the leader’s temple. The Blades had sworn themselves to The Herald of Andraste, even though she had been bleeding out on a pile of hay in their stables. Solas knelt over her as he healed her, laying her head in his lap, and hovering his hand over the stomach wound first, obviously. He listened as one of the Blades explained to Cassandra that the last leader, who now lay dead in the courtyard (if that’s what one could even call it), had used the Blades as a way to plunder and steal from passing travelers. He killed anyone he considered a threat as they slept, like a coward. 

 

Solas looked down at the fluttering eyelids of Eliana; she was losing consciousness. He pressed his hand against the wound now, pushing his magic into the gash, blood covering his hands. He was getting nervous at how slowly it was healing, and he leaned down, his mouth close to her ear.

 

“Te vara, ma da’len. Ar gen’av’ahna ma,” He whispered, pleading. Almost immediately, he felt the healing quicken, and with one last press of magic, it was closed. She probably wouldn’t even scar; how ironic that she had nearly died, and yet her moonflesh would be unmarred. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, foggily.

 

“Hahren…” She struggled to keep her eyes open, and her head rolled to one side.

 

Solas gestured over to Varric to replace him, and the dwarf gently moved her head into his own lap, stroking her hair chastely and making quiet little jokes in her ear. Solas moved down to her side and used her own dagger to cut her leggings open over broken thigh bone to get a good look at the break. Her femur was snapped cleanly and the bone was pushing against the green-and-purple skin in a grotesque manner. 

 

“Herald,” he said firmly, “I need you to listen to me. I am going to have to reset this bone by hand before I can fully heal it. It is going to be very, very painful. Do you understand?”

 

“Vin, Hahren.” Her gravelly voice was barely a whisper. Solas handed her dagger to Varric, and the dwarf held it so she could bite down on the leather of the hilt with her back teeth. Solas looked back down at the leg and focused. He refused to look at her pain. Without warning so she wouldn’t tense in anticipation of the pain, he abruptly forced the bone back into place.

 

The sound of her scream was unbearable. Everyone averted their eyes, Cassandra said the Chant of Light. Solas flooded her body with magic, trying to take the edge off the pain while knitting the bone back together, healing the damaged flesh underneath. Varric reached for a blood lotus poultice to ease the pain and let her sleep. 

 

Bull moved forward to carry her, but Solas lifted her away and held fast, walking her past the kneeling crowd of Blades, out of the gates to her horse. 

 

“Will she live?” He heard one of the Blades ask.

“After a short nap, she’ll be right as rain.” Varric sounded chipper, but Solas noted the edge in his voice.

 

He swept easily up onto the cream Strider, not jostling her as he settled her across his lap. He glanced at Cassandra, and then to his own mount, and when she nodded in understanding, he turned Da’assan sharply and rode back to the camp as swiftly as the horse could manage.

 

Under the steady thunder of hooves, he heard her whisper, “Lath…Hahren….”

 

He looked down into her face, and knew she was unconscious. 

 

_She is just babbling. She’s had a strong_ _pain-killer poultice._

_She doesn’t even know what she is saying._

 

But he felt his chest tighten, despite himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Etunash: Shit, Crap  
> Ma da’len: My Little One, My Child  
> Te vara: Don’t go  
> Ar gen’av’ahna ma: I beg of you  
> Vin: Yes  
> Lath: Love
> 
> Once again, I apologize if I have completely butchered the Elven.  
> Thank you all again so much for the kudos and reading and being all-around amazing.  
> Muah!! xoxoxox


	8. History and the Near Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is short and basically only necessary for (a.) foreshadowing and (b.) getting the gang back to Redcliffe. There's also a bit of cutesy fluff tossed in, but it's mostly just to keep momentum. 
> 
> "In Hushed Whispers" is probably going to take me at least two (if not three) chapters to get through. I have a lot of relationship- and character-building to do during the Redcliffe adventure, so bear with me, and I will do my absolute best to make it my best chapter(s) yet.
> 
> Thank you again for your kudos, comments, and support! Muah!! <3

_She looked down at her Laleal_ :  _the feeling of her bare flesh pressed against her own. They lied with their limbs tangled around each other, their naked skin pressed against the soft grass, Eliana’s lover using the roots of a large tree to rest her head as Eliana sat up on one elbow._

_Laleal's eyes were the color of sunlight shining through polished amber, her hair was the deep, warm brown of petrified wood, her skin was a splash of tea on new parchment. Her body was long, lithe, languid under Eliana's own. Lal was taller than she, more thin and elegant, and covered by cinnamon freckles over every stretch of skin. Laleal was her childhood best friend, her adopted sister, her lover. She was…everything._  
  
_“There’s nothing you could do for me even if you were a healer, Vhenan. Your mother tried everything, and she’s the most knowledgeable mage in all of Thedas, I’m sure of it.”_  
  
_“But, Lal, I can’t bear it. I can’t lose you.” Eliana pressed her face to Laleal’s chest and sobbed violently as Lal gently stroked her cream curls comfortingly._  
  
_“Ar lath ma, Laleal.” Lal pressed her lips gently to the top of her head._  
  
_“Ar lath ma, Elle.”_

 

 

Eliana's eyes fluttered open, and she sighed at the roof of the tent. They were still a day's ride from Redcliffe; she had sent Varric and Cassandra ahead to Haven so they could meet up outside the village with fresh supplies. She should have sent Solas, but she knew he would have refused. He was, after all, the only healer in the current party.  
  
_Not like he’s even spoken to be since he set my leg._

She had this vague memory of his voice speaking to her in Elvhen while she had been bleeding out from that stomach wound.  
  
_“Te vara, ma da’len. Ar gen’av’ahna ma….”_

He had called her _his_ da’len. He had begged her to stay alive, to stay with him….

_Hadn’t he? Or maybe I was just….I mean, I was dying._

 

She was abruptly pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of tapping on the flap of her tent.  
  
“Yes?” She leaned up on one elbow to see Solas duck into the tent, his face almost irritated, but as composed as ever.  
  
“Herald, I came to check on your leg. You’ve been off of it sufficiently, I just want to check for any bone spur growth or remaining hairline fractures.”  
  
“Mm.” She swung her legs off of the cot that had been acquired for her use until Solas had deemed the break sufficiently healed. She was only in a night-shift, as the sun had only just come up, making it easier and less embarrassing for her than stripping off a pair of leggings.

He barely grazed his long, elegant fingers over her skin to push the hem of the shift up just slightly. The bruises that remained were the pale yellow and green, almost healed. She felt his magic sink into her skin, probing and prodding at anywhere there may be remaining damage to the muscle, vessels, or bone.  
  
She realized how she didn’t blush or fluster, her pulse didn’t quicken. She felt no rush of conflicting emotions.  
  
_If his hand was up my shift and touching my thigh any other time, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself…._

He seemed to realize, too, that she seemed unaffected in any way by his touch or proximity, as he raised an eyebrow and looked her in the eyes.  
  
“Any pain or discomfort, Herald?” His voice was probing for more than just whether or not her leg hurt. She shrugged passively and looked away, eyes half-lidded and blank.

  
“Only when I get too cold or damp, then it’s just a small ache. It will undoubtedly pass in time.” She looked back at him, her face still blank, but her eyes just briefly flashed with anger.  
  
“And, please, do not call me Herald again. I know you think it is just as foolish as I do.” She said it dismissively, pulling her legs away from his hand rather tersely, before standing and walking over to grab a small book from atop her rucksack.  
  
Thankfully, he took the hint and left; though, she could have almost sworn she had seen him bow to her and grin before he stepped back out into the snow.  
  


* * *

 

 

He could only assume she was mad at him for having avoided her after making such a scene at the Coast.  
_  
It really is for her own good. She does not need to get too used to me. Nor I, her._

They had mounted up again and were riding towards the Crossroads camp to meet up with Varric, Cassandra, and (much to the dread of, well, pretty much everyone) Vivienne. Sera and Bull were discussing the finer points of Qunari women, and Solas glanced slightly over his shoulder to see Eliana trailing behind. She was reading the same book she had picked up earlier, not bothering to look up to steer Da’assan or even holding her reigns. The Strider just followed the rest of the party, without any apparent guidance. Solas had never actually witnessed Eliana train her horse, but it acted as though it were her companion instead of her mount. He tugged his own mount’s reigns to slow himself into a matching gait.

 

“May I ask what you are reading, da’len?” He tried to make his tone friendly, but she didn’t glance up as she answered.

“ _A Treaty on the Pagan and Heretical Customs of the Elven_ , by Senallen Tavernier.” 

“It is a commissioned study of the Dalish by an Orlesian scholar, is it not?” He quirked a brow. She still did not look up from her book.

  
“It is.”

  
“But you are Dalish. What could you learn from a human that you do not already know yourself?” His tone was polite and curious, but his phrasing was a challenge. She now met his gaze: her eyes sharp, but smiling as if he had said something naïvely clever.

“I enjoy reading and learning. I enjoy trying to see things from another’s point of view. Was it not you who said that knowledge is always preferable to ignorance, Hahren?“ She hadn’t taken the bait; she would not be tricked into an argument.  
  
_My clever da’len. She’s learning to anticipate me a little too well…._

 

“Where did you learn to read, da’len? Are you a First?” She tossed her head back and laughed loudly at this, though he could hear the bite of scorn in her laughter.  
  
“I was too late into my magic to have been a First, Solas. No, my mother taught me. She taught me a great many things, actually.” She now gave a small, sad smile to the back of Da’assan’s neck.

  
  
“Ah?” He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was not what she said next.  
  
  
“Do you recall, about a week ago, you told me about the crystal spires and castles of Arlathan?”  
  
  
He was struggling to control his face now as he felt a slight swelling of panic in his chest. He nodded.  
  
  
“She had mentioned the same thing, once. She said it was before the time of the Veil. She claimed the Elvhen Evanuris were not gods, merely supremely powerful in their magic. She claimed they kept lesser Elvhen as slaves, much as the Tevinters do. She said that the Evanuris were the true murderers of Mythal.”  
  
_She knows…_

Solas did not speak. He couldn’t. But she didn’t wait for his response before carrying on.  
  
“She said that after the death of his lover, Fen’Harel led a slave revolt, shutting the false gods away behind The Veil, but doing so began The Quickening. Soon, there seemed no immortal Elvhen left, and the mortal elves were all that remained….But she believed a few of the true Elvhen still live, only hiding away and remaining in Uthenera until the Veil is torn down again.”  
  
  
  
They sat in silence for a long moment, and just as Eliana looked to go back to her book, Solas spoke.  
  
“What an interesting theory. Where, I wonder, could she have come to it?” He knew his voice was a little more dangerous, more aggressive, than he wanted it to be, but Eliana merely smiled at him.  
  
“She was a mage healer, and a dreamer. Like you….In fact, you remind me of her a great deal, now that I think of it.” Solas’s eyebrows furrowed.  
  
  
“How so.” Once again, his tone was challenging, but she seemed unaware. She spoke reverently now, with a previously unheard ache in her voice.  
  
“She was very wise, reserved, quiet. And she loved to speak to spirits. Actually, it was many spirits over many years that had come to her, each giving her little pieces of the story of the gods, until she had something of a whole picture. She said, though, that there was no way to know it all.”  
  
  
“And how did the rest of your clan feel about her postulation?” Solas found himself slowly relaxing into curiosity: Eliana seemed more concerned with the memory of her mother than the stories told to her. 

“HA! She was no fool, Hahren. She kept her dreams and spirits to herself. She only ever told _me_ after I had come into my magic. My brother still knows none of her tale. Our clan would have had a good game of Fen’Harel’s Teeth with her for her heresy.” Eliana sneered openly at the mention of her clan’s obtuseness, and then her eyes fell again to the back of her horse’s neck, and he saw her chin quiver slightly, as though she might cry.  
  
“She sounds exceptional and wise, da’len. I can now see where you gained a lot of your best qualities.” He spoke softly to her now, and she gave him a half-hearted smile, but did not look back at him.

_I don’t actually feel pity for this girl, do I? Her story is too close to the truth, but completely impossible for her to prove. What else does she know?_

 

“Here’s the Gang! Foxlette, Buttercup, Chuckles, and….I’ll call _you_ Tiny.” 

They were finally approaching the Crossroads camp, greeted with Varric’s usual jovial enthusiasm. Cassandra seemed pleased too, though was not nearly as vocal about it. Vivienne stood alone, glancing around her for a place to sit that wouldn’t dirty her stark white dress.

“Herald, how is your leg? Has she improved much, Solas?” The Seeker rushed over with a worried smile, clucking like a hen and trying to help Eliana off her horse.  
  
“Oi! Her Blessed Shiny-ness can get on an’ off ‘er horse fine! How’s ‘bout helpin’ Li’l Ole Sera down for once?” Eliana smiled at Cassandra before jerking her head towards Sera pointedly, chuckling quietly at the Seeker’s huff.

  
“Lady Lavellan is essentially healed in entirety, Cassandra.”

  
Solas nodded in response to her grateful smile, and headed towards the fire, where a pot was bubbling with some sort of vegetable soup. He heard Eliana’s voice close behind him.

“Alright, let’s make quick with this dinner and get some sleep. We’ve got mages to wrangle tomorrow.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

Varric made a joke comparing “mage wrangling” to “cat herding”, sending the whole group into laughter; even Vivienne chuckled slightly behind a manicured hand.  
Solas smiled to himself, facing away so no one would see him, but at the corner of his eye, he saw Eliana watching him.

 

When their eyes met, she smiled widely at him, and he surprised himself by smiling right back.

 

* * *

 

For once, Eliana found herself the first one up. If she were honest with herself, it was more an inability to sleep than eagerness to get going. She paced along the wall at the edge of the camp, the air around her slowly lightening from a grey to the pale orange of the sunrise. She had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach about going to Redcliffe. Something just didn’t feel right. Even more worrying than that, the mark on her hand had been spitting and snapping out light and magic, sending sharp pains up her arm. She had forgotten that, technically, this thing was still killing her. She chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating her fate as the mark crackled again. 

_Well, I’m going to die soon either way. No use in crying about it._

“Is it causing you discomfort, da’len?”

Solas had come up behind her so quietly, she jumped violently when she heard his voice and lost her balance on the stone wall, falling backwards towards a fairly steep cliff. He reached forward and snatched her by her waist, pulling her safely against him.

“ _Fendhis,_ Solas!” She tried to glare at him, but it was difficult when she was pressed with her body crushing her hands against his chest; her head tilted far back to look into his face, which was....very close to her own. He was looking down his nose into her eyes, heavy-lidded and somehow intimidatingly enticing. She looked at his lips, and for a moment too long. They looked so soft, full and slightly parted, with a cocksure smirk playing at the corners. She pushed herself away with (probably too much) force, and took another few steps back from him.  
  
“Ir abelas, da’len. Usually you are much more attentive to your surroundings. I should have thought to make more noise.” She sighed slightly and shook her head.  
  
“The fault is mine, Hahren. I was too caught up in my own thoughts.” She looked back up to see him taking a step towards her.

“You did not answer my question, da’halevune.” He tilted his head, the slightest look of worry in his eyes. She felt her skin flush at the endearment.

“The mark? It’s not too unbearable. It is just acting up at the moment. It…” She hesitated, but if anyone could help, it would be Solas.  
  
“I know it’s killing me. That doesn’t bother me so much. It just kept me up all night…. There is something here that’s affecting it—something that wasn’t here before.“

 

He looked at her face searchingly, obviously milling over his own thoughts, before holding out his hand. She placed her marked hand in his, and he clasped her gently between his palms. She felt the cool relief of his magic tingling up her arm, and the pain subsided.

“Ma serannas, Hahren. I would ask you how you do that, but even if you _were_ to tell me, I doubt I would understand.” He merely gave her a crooked smile before glancing over at the noises of the others climbing from their tents.  
  
“Rise and shine, early birds! Time to wrangle the worm!” Cassandra’s attempt at the joke, along with the obvious sarcasm in her tone, actually drew a chuckle from Solas. Eliana felt her anxiety subside a bit, and went to grab her sack and saddle bags before mounting her horse with the rest of her little rag-tag bunch of misfits.

 

 

As they approached the main gate, Eliana felt the familiar and distinct stabbing pull of her mark, and hearing the sharp snap before she saw the rift open. They quickly dismounted their horses, leaving them with two scouts that had accompanied them, and her companions moved to make a defensive circle around her. Demons were spawning everywhere, and though most were taken out quickly, they seemed more difficult to keep up with than usual.

She moved quickly towards the rift, lifting her mark towards it as she sprinted, but something was off. She felt dizzy, and realized she was moving slowly, as though she were running through molasses. A Terror demon came from seemingly nowhere and knocked her fiercely to the ground—leaving deep claw marks across her jaw and chest. She managed to use her staff to send a ball of lightning through it, causing it to explode into black blood and dust. Again, she lifted her mark, pushing as much of her magic as she could into the rift before it shut with a loud crack and she collapsed onto her back.

“Oh, darling. What a dreadful sight! Those wounds are just ghastly.” Even Vivienne’s sympathy was condescending. Eliana rolled her eyes and sat up. Her companions gathered around her.

 

“There was something off about that rift….” She rubbed the back of her neck as Solas knelt to heal the scratches on her arm.  
  
  
“Temporal distortion would be my best guess, but it seems highly unlikely.” His eyebrows were furrowed in thought.

_Creators, he is so attractive when he’s thinking._

Eliana shook her head to ignore the distraction she was causing herself.

 

“Solas, dear. That is impossible. That kind of magic simply doesn’t exist in any way that could be harnessed.” Vivienne smiled at him like she would’ve patted the top of his head like a pup, had he not been such an "unwashed hobo".

            “ _Certainly_ not in any way a _Circle Mage_ could harness, but to generalize all magic in such a way is ignorant.” He spoke with calm confidence, a slight smile growing at Vivienne’s nostrils flaring in rage.

  
  
Eliana cut them off before they could start slinging spells along with their insults.  
  
“Either way, we need to figure out what in the name of the Dread Wolf is going on here. Come on.”  
She made her way to the gate as it slowly opened, cheers and questions from the guards growing louder with their approach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Uthenera: “The Long Sleep”, a sort-of hibernation for the Immortal Elvhen  
> Fendhis: A curse, similar to 'shit'(?)  
> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, My apologies  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Da’halevune: Little Moon-Fox
> 
> Immense gratitude to FenxShiral’s Project Elvhen for helping me find the Elvhen word for ‘fox’.  
> I've bookmarked "Project Elvhen: Book of Names" for future reference.


	9. Enter: Sparkler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana meets Dorian, Solas gives a very intense compliment, and then Eliana gets shut down. Hard.
> 
> Ready for some time-travel?   
> Me too. Sorry.
> 
> But that'll be in the next chapter <3

  

Before Eliana had managed three steps into the gate entrance, an Inquisition scout was running towards them at full speed, skidding to a stop just short of slamming into her, and bowed. As he straightened, gasping for air, Cassandra moved to stand next to her.

 

“Herald, Seeker—“ he could barely get the words out, but his look of concern was making Solas nervous. Eliana was telling him to breathe more slowly, but Cassandra asked him what the problem was.  


“Your Worship, the mages claim no one was expecting you. They are confused as to why the Inquisition wants to speak with them. They’re scared….”  
  
“But Grand Enchanter Fiona invited us herself!” The Seeker was obviously confused, thinking perhaps this was just a political snub, but Solas could tell by the way Eliana’s ears twitched, how her eyes narrowed slightly, that she knew something else was going on here.

 

He watched as she turned now to follow an approaching Mage with her eyes. She scanned him up and down, noting his Circle robes and slight stature.  
  
“Greetings, Herald of Andraste. My name is Lysas. I believe there has been some confusion.” He eyed her and her party warily, but smiled politely. There was fear in his carefully steady tone.

 

“It would seem so. I came to enlist the help of the Mages, at the invitation of Enchanter Fiona.” Lysas furrowed his eyebrows in concern, and began shifting nervously from one foot to the other.  
  
“I’m afraid Fiona would not have any power to extend such an invitation. She has placed us under the… _protection_ of a Magister Alexius of Tevinter. You should best speak to her, she will clear this up for you. She is at The Gull and Lantern.”  


Eliana bowed slightly, thanking him, and watched him walk away before she turned to her companions with steel in her eyes. Her jaw was clenched, and she had the faintest hint of a crease between her brows.  
  
_How fierce she looks in the face of uncertainty; how lovely._

 

“Boss, this gives me the creeps. No one knew we were coming? And a _Vint_ _Magister_ is involved?” Bull was fingering the hilt of the axe on his back.  
  
“Something is certainly not all right here.” Cassandra nodded in agreement, glancing around in suspicion. Sera, for once, was too busy plucking the string of her bow, occasionally reaching back to brush at the fletching of her arrows, as if to reassure herself.

 

“Well, we should at least let Fiona explain herself, right?” Varric began leading the way down the path, refugees lying in the grass on either side of the pave stones.  
  
“I intend for her to do more than just that, darling,” Vivienne hissed, gliding along behind the dwarf.  
Solas looked at Eliana, who hadn’t moved to follow yet, just staring slightly off in the general direction of the Chantry building.  
  
“Da’len?” He asked gently, moving to touch her elbow before stopping himself.  
  
“I don’t like this, Hahren. I don’t like this at all.” Her voice was gravelly again, and low, but her face was set in determination.   
She strode forward then, her confident steps ever silent, and he followed.

 

* * *

 

 

As she walked through the town, Eliana noticed a lot of movement—mostly away from her group and into the shadows. This did very little to set her at ease, but she also suspected that this was the intention. She felt better with Solas at her side, his sharp eyes scanning every nook and cranny they passed. The rest of her friends had moved, unprompted and without speaking, into a loose circle around her. They were suspicious too. She heard Varric’s voice behind her and slightly to her right, and he spoke low, so only she and the others would hear.

 

“Has anyone else noticed the lack of Clerics and Chantry Mothers present?”  
  
“It does seem odd that they are not tending to the wounded on the cots…” Cassandra’s brow furrowed even further than Eliana had thought possible.

 

As they reached the pub, the group split to allow Vivienne to enter just before Eliana, permitting some protection of the Herald in case of an ambush. As the door was slung open, the low murmuring of the patrons only silenced briefly before continuing their hushed whispers.

_How odd. Pubs are not spoken in like Chantries._

 

She raised both eyebrows at Solas, who had entered immediately behind her. He pursed his lips in agreement, returning to his scanning of the crowd.

 

Vivienne spotted Fiona first, and Eliana followed as the Iron Lady glided through the small inn as if it were a ballroom. Fiona saw them approach and spoke first.  
  
“ First Enchanter Vivienne.” The small elf nodded her head gently, her voice as quiet and accent as thickly Orlesian as when Eliana heard it in Val Royeaux.

 

“My _dear_ Fiona. It’s been so long since we last spoke! You look _dreadful_! Are you sleeping well?” Vivienne smirked at the small Mage, fluttering her eyelashes innocently.  
  
_Madame De Fer never fails to kick a girl when she’s down…_

 

“Lady Herald, I am honored, though I must admit I am surprised to see you here.”  
  
“So, you mean to say that it was _not_ you whom, in Val Royeaux, introduced herself to us as First Enchanter Fiona of the Circle and subsequently extended an invitation to meet with you here in order to discuss terms of your assistance for closing the Breach?” Eliana knew she was being unnecessarily hostile, but this whole Orlesian Game hallashit was getting old quickly.

 

“I assure you, Your Worship, that I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave!” To her credit, Fiona look convincingly confused. If she _was_ lying, she was very, very good at it.  
  
“So, you won’t help us, then.” Eliana noticed the panic in Fiona’s eyes.  
  
“I wish I were able to offer our services, but…. As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.” Eliana sighed.  
  
_That was fast._

 

“Fiona, dear, your dementia is showing.” Vivienne looked almost pleased, but her forehead was slightly creased in concern.

 

“An alliance with Tevinter?! Do you not fear all of Thedas turning against you?” Cassandra was showing a great deal of restraint in not shrieking at the Mage whilst shaking her violently by the shoulders.

 

“Andraste’s ass,” Varric murmured while rubbing his temples, “I can’t think of a single worse thing you could’ve done; I’ve got nothin’.”  
  
“This right here is why you can’t trust Mages.”   
Bull glanced down at Eliana’s single raised eyebrow before he whispered,   
“No offense, Boss. You don’t count.”

 

“I know you are afraid, but you deserve better than _slavery_ to Tevinter.” Solas pushed forward now, looking furious, but his voice came out even and comforting.  


“Welcome, Inquisition! I apologize for being late to my own gathering.” The pub door slammed shut and Eliana looked over at the approaching Tevinter. He was elderly, with an awful patch of hair shaved into a sharp point under his thin lips. He wore a red hood with odd, horn-shaped fabric adorning the top and either side of his face, and Battle-Mage armor. Fiona bowed deeply to him, much to Eliana’s disgust.

 

“Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius.” He nodded to Eliana with a smug smirk.

 

“The Southern Mages are under _my_ command.” He took a step towards her, causing her companions all to tense. She signaled for them to stay put at she took a step towards Alexius.  
  
“And, _you_ are the…survivor, yes? From the Fade. How…” His eyes flashed with amused curiosity, “ _interesting._ ”  


Eliana gave him her most charming smile and a tiny curtsey.  
  
“Magister Alexius, I come to ask for the assistance of your Mages to close the Breach.” She made her voice as sweet as honey, and fluttered her eyelashes with demure innocence.  


“Well, my dear! Straight to business! Of course, have a seat.” He gestured to a long table in the corner, and she sat daintily in the far chair at the end. Solas came to stand on her right, and Vivienne on her left; they seemed to have picked up on her little game.  
  
“Felix, will you send for a scribe please?” The Magister was speaking to a young man who had begun to approach. He could have been considered handsome, but that he was obviously very ill, and appeared to have been so for some time.  
  
“Friends,” Alexius boomed, “pardon my manners! My son, Felix.” Felix bowed deeply, and turned away to find the aforementioned scribe without saying a word. Alexius turned back to again face Eliana’s charming smile.

 

“I am not surprised you are here. Closing the Breach is a feat most would find impossible. There’s no telling how many Mages will be required….What an ambitious little thing you are.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

 

Eliana leaned forward, resting an arm on the table and twisting her hair around a finger.

“We don’t like to think small around here,” she giggled. He smiled widely, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Felix approaching again, clenching his stomach and looking pale.

 

“There will, of course, have to be—“ He was cut off as Eliana stood abruptly, reaching out to catch Felix as he collapsed.

 

Felix leaned into her briefly before trying to right himself. Eliana pulled him towards the table, and he slid one hand into her own before placing his other hand against the table. She allowed him to use her as support as he shift his weight, releasing her hand and using the table to stay upright.  
  
_Hm.._

 

“Felix!” In the diversion of the Magister, his men, and her own people all moving forward defensively, Eliana slipped the tiny folded parchment up her sleeve without notice.  


“My Lady, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Felix looked at her now, his face apologetic but his eyes meaningful. She gave him the tiniest of nods.  
  
“Are you alright?” Alexius looked panicked.  
  
“I’m fine, Father.” He still leaned against the table, clutching his stomach.

 

“Come, I’ll get your poultices.” Alexius turned to them now, “Please excuse us, friends! We shall continue this some other time. Fiona! I require your assistance back at the castle.” He barked at the Mage like a dog as he hurried out of the pub, his guards and Felix following slowly behind, apologizing for troubling everyone.

 

Before he closed the door behind him, Alexius turned around to look Eliana in the eye.  
“I will send word to the Inquisition when this business might be concluded.” And without waiting for a response, he slammed the door behind him.   
  


* * *

 

 

As soon as the Magister had left, it seemed that everyone in their group had let out the breath they had been holding. Well, everyone but Eliana and himself. She immediately insisted they step outside, glancing around at all of the pub’s patrons stares and whispers behind hands.

 

She had not made two steps out the door before the Mage from earlier, Lysas, was standing in front of her. Solas went to move in front of her, but Eliana put out a hand, stilling him. Lysas looked desperate, but in a pleading way.  
  
“Were you really looking to ally with us?” Eliana tilted her head.

 

“You seem like you doubt that.”  
  
“We don’t have many friends, considering the Templars are sworn to the Chantry. I thought the Inquisition was, too.” He shrugged, and Eliana mirrored him.  
  
“The Inquisition is just trying to bring some order back. Whether things change or go back to how they were…that’s all up to the actions of the people that help us.”  
She lowered her voice then, so Cassandra and Vivienne couldn’t hear her, looking the Mage in the eyes.

“There’s a reason I didn’t go to the Templars first.”  
  
Lysas stepped back, looking at her differently now, eyes wide and hopeful, before bowing to her and walking away briskly.

 

Eliana turned to Solas, and he didn’t even bother hiding the admiration in his eyes. He nodded to her.   
  
“Listen, we need to get out of this square. I have something you all need to see.”  
  
She followed him when he led her over to a balcony overlooking the docks, and the rest followed quietly, faces full of wary curiosity. She slid a small fold of parchment out of her sleeve, and read it before passing it around.  
  
_Come to the Chantry. You are in danger._

 

“This is obviously a trap!” Cassandra was the first to speak, somehow keeping her voice low enough to not cause any passersby to look.  
  
“I don’t think so. Felix slipped it to me when he fell. I saw the look in his eyes.” Eliana seemed confident, but Solas wasn’t so sure.  
  
“I doubt there’s anything in there we can’t take down, Cassandra.” Bull was, as usual, very self-assured.   
  
“Damn Vints,” was all Sera managed to mutter coherently.  
  
“Well, I’m going. You can stay here if you want, but there’s a lot of questions here, and the only chance of getting some answers any time soon is in that Chantry.” Solas looked at her, shaking his head with a sigh.  
  
_Brave da'hale…Recklessly brave._

 

“You are not going alone, da’len.”   
  
Ultimately Varric, Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Solas agreed to come with her. Madame De Fer complained of the filth of Redcliffe and Sera claimed she would die of hunger if she didn’t eat soon, so they started back to the camp.

 

“We’ll be sure to send someone after you if you aren’t back by dusk, darling,” Vivienne called over her shoulder as they strode off.  
  
“Yeah, you do that.” Eliana said it so quietly, Solas almost didn’t hear it, but he chuckled when he caught her eye-roll.

 

They headed up the steps to the Chantry, and as one, entered in past the thick wooded doors.

 

  _Protect her. At all costs._

 

* * *

 

The first thing visible was the green, glowing rift—immediately causing Eliana’s hand to light up and crackle with energy. Demons were _everywhere_. And then her eyes fell on a singular Mage, fighting them off fiercely, but enjoying it as if it were a sport. He glanced over his shoulder at them, calling out in an almost amused tone.  
  
“Oh, good! You’ve finally decided to show up. Now be a dear, help me close this, would you?”  
  
Her friends fended off and killed any demons approaching her as she strode towards the rift, thrusting her hand up into it and using her magic to pull hard. In moments, it snapped closed with a crack. The Mage looked around, interested, before turning to face her, grinning wide.  
  
“Fascinating…How does that work, exactly?” He laughed when Eliana shrugged.  
“You’ve no idea, do you? You just wriggle your little fingers at it and Boom! Closes.” She found herself smiling at him.  
  
“And, who might you be?”  


“Ah, always getting ahead of myself. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.” He dipped into a low, sweeping bow. “How do you do?”  
  
“Watch yourself,” Bull grumbled, “The pretty ones are always the worst.”

 

“My, what suspicious friend you have!” Dorian winked at Bull, pulling a laugh from Eliana.

 

“Don’t mind Tiny; you know how Qunari are about Vints…And vise-versa…” Varric chuckled, himself.

“Alexius was once my Mentor, so my assistance will be most valuable to you, as I’m sure you will see.”  
  
“Where’s Felix?” Eliana was suddenly worried about the young man.   
  
_Maybe he had really been ill..._  
  
“Oh, he’ll be here. He has to ditch his father, you know the deal with parents of sick kids.”  
  
“What’s wrong with him, exactly?”  
  
“He’s been ill for months.” Dorian shrugged, pointedly.  
  
“So, you’re betraying your mentor, because….?” Eliana took the hint and decided to get to the real reason she was here.

 

“ ** _Ex-_** Mentor. You already _know_ you’re in danger, even without the note. Isn’t it odd how Alexius managed to beat you to Redcliffe and snatch up your Mages before you arrived? As if, by some magic, he distorted space and time just to get here ahead of you?”

  
Dorian was charming, but his grand-standing was wasting precious time.  
  
“Okay, I get it. Now explain how.” Dorian now grinned at her approvingly.  
  
“If true, it is fascinating. And certainly dangerous.” Solas mulled, quick on the uptake.

 

“The rift you closed outside the gate? Odd, wasn’t it?” Dorian was obviously all about using as many words as possible to get his point across.

“It twisted time and space around it, speeding some things up, slowing others down. And soon, there’ll be more of them, appearing further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable…and it’s unraveling the world.”   


He paused for dramatic effect, letting those last few words sink in.  
  
“Well, fantastic. Let me just check that off my Apocalypse Lottery Card.” Eliana sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.  
  
“I know what I’m talking about. I helped him develop the magic in the first place. It was pure theory back then, though. Alexius couldn’t ever get it to work. What I _don’t_ understand is _why_ he’s doing it. All for a few hundred pawns?”

 

“He didn’t do it for them.” Felix walked in from the shadows, nodding a greeting to her, while Dorian pointed out how too late was no longer fashionable.  
  
“I shouldn’t have played the sick card. I thought he’d fuss over me all day.” He turned to Eliana now, his face still sallow with his obvious illness.  
“My father has joined some Tevinter supremacist cult. They call themselves ‘Venatori’. And whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you.”

 

“Little ol’ me? And here, I didn’t get him a thing!” Eliana grinned and fluttered her lashes dramatically.

 

“Send him a fruit basket. Everyone loves those.” Dorian grinned back, and Bull and Varric chuckled behind her. Solas remained silent.   
  
_Most likely mentally scolding me._

 

“The Venatori are obsessed with you, for some reason. Perhaps because you survived the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Felix guided them back on topic, and apparently gave Dorian an idea.  
  
“You can close those rifts. If they’re behind that Breach in the sky, it’s all somehow connected. Maybe you’re a threat. Anyway, now that you are anticipating his attack, you can turn it to your advantage. Whenever you’re ready to deal with him, I want to be there. I’ll be in touch.”

 

Dorian gave Eliana another grin, winked at Bull, and began to walk away, back into the shadows. Then he turned and called out to Felix while still walking, backward.

 

“Oh, and Felix… _Do_ try not to get killed?”  
  
“There are worse things than dying, Dorian.” Felix bowed to them before walking out a side door.

 

Eliana led her little troupe outside and they mounted up to head back to camp.  
Cassandra pulled her horse up next to Da’assan.  
  
“Do you really think we can trust them?” Eliana realized she hadn’t spoken the whole time they were in the Chantry.  
  
“I do. Dorian is too long-winded to be much of a skilled liar. He’s of a kind who takes pride in their opinions and stances.” Cassandra nodded at this, brow furrowed, and didn’t speak for a long moment.

“What’s wrong, Cass?” Eliana was starting to worry. The Warrior rarely was quiet for so long when she obviously had something to say.  
  
“Redcliffe Castle is nearly impregnable. If he’s going to summon you there, we’ll have no way of protecting you.” Cassandra looked at her Herald to see a surprising fearlessness in her eyes.  
  
“When we get back to camp, send a Raven for Leliana. I want her here by morning.” She watched as Cassandra nodded, looked over her shoulder, and nudged her horse to pull ahead. Eliana looked over her own shoulder now, confused.  
  
Solas was staring at her, and easily moved his horse into the spot Cassandra had left him.  
  
_Oh no. I’m in trouble, aren’t I? Cassandra and Solas think I need a lecture._

 

“Da’len.” Solas made the word sound like velvet over bare flesh.  
  
“Hahren?” Solas looked away from her now, straight ahead.  
  
“You did very well today. Ane galanor emitha.”  
  
She felt the flush from her knees to the top of her head, but she looked at him anyway.   
  
“Ma enansal gon.”

 

He looked back at her, holding her eyes for a moment, and then tugged his reins, allowing his mount to slow and leaving her alone, blushing and humiliated.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da'hale: Little Fox  
> Ane galanor emitha: You are magnificent to behold/watch   
> Ma enansal gon: You give me worth, You gift me with value
> 
>  
> 
> Woooo! Part 1 of In Hushed Whispers is done! On the down-side, it is probably definitely going to take me two more chapters to get through Redcliffe castle. But, I'm enjoying myself, so is it really a down-side?  
> Sorry again for any butchering of Elvhen I've done.
> 
> <3 Muah!


	10. Anbanal (or: Adventures at Redcliffe Castle pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magisters, Mage-slaves, time-travel, some serious emotions, and Future Solas.  
> Eliana has to deal with a LOT more shit than she was ready for.
> 
> In fact, she gets such a huge bomb dropped on her, she doesn't even realize it yet.
> 
>  
> 
> I started this exactly 11 hours and 42 minutes ago. I am super excited.  
> Hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I did. <3 Muah!!

Solas had only slept briefly before his body woke him with a wave of guilt. He has seen the look on her face when he pulled his horse back and away from her. She refused to even look at him throughout dinner; choosing instead to sit with Cassandra as they wrote the summons and what information they had. He sighed and sat up.  
  
_Well, if I’m not going to get to sleep, I might as well get up._  
  
He stepped out of his tent just as Leliana arrived, thundering in on a black Orlesian Courser and surrounded by at least a dozen of her “best people”.

She had arrived more quickly than even he had expected. She still had a few hours until first light. She must have left the moment she received the Raven.

 

She saw him as she swung off her horse and they nodded to each other. The noise of the horses had woken Cassandra and Bull, who now emerged from their tents, followed shortly after by Vivienne and Varric. Sera could sleep soundly in the middle of a battlefield, so she wasn’t going to be seen. Cassandra was asking Leliana whether or not she should wake the Herald when Eliana appeared from her own tent, rubbing her eyes adorably, her curls a messy halo.

 

“I said by _morning_ , Leliana.” Her grumble was met by a round of good-hearted laughs as she finished tugging her leggings up around her waist. She was still in her night-shirt, a blanket pulled tight around her shoulders. She was lovely.  
  
“I am actually later than I would have been, thanks to Cullen’s insistence on arguing for half an hour that you were on a suicide mission.” Leliana smirked and Eliana walked over to Iron Bull, who was seated on a log, climbing onto his lap.

  
Bull immediately cradled her, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her behavior didn’t cause any of the rest of her friends to bat a single lash (Vivienne not withstanding, who merely wrinkled her nose at the impropriety), but Solas felt a heat in his chest that he hadn’t known in a long time. He wanted to snatch her up from the Qunari and hold her tightly. But this was not the time, place, or focus for such pettiness.

 

_You can’t be jealous if you can’t have her at all. She is just a child. She is closer to a human than a true Elvhan. Stop distracting yourself, fool._

“So, Cassandra and Cullen say Redcliffe Castle is invulnerable.” His thoughts were interrupted by her voice. She was leaning forward slightly, as Leliana sat next to her and Bull, holding what appeared to be a blueprint. Cassandra sat at Leliana’s other side, and Varric moved in to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder.  
  
“It would certainly seem that way, if you are trying to use an army to get in…” Leliana’s eyes twinkled with mischief.  
  
“Leave it to Nightingale to take down a castle without soldiers. Always putting Curly to shame.” Varric was smiling, but he would clearly rather have been asleep.  
  
“So, what are you thinking?” Cassandra seemed to have full faith in whatever Leliana might come up with; it was hard not to, considering how renowned the Spymaster was for succeeding at impossible challenges.

 

“Well, at first, I wasn’t sure, but then I recalled the windmill in the village has a tunnel that used to lead water right into the castle. I can send my people in through there.”  
  
“Yes, but how are that many people gonna sneak around unnoticed, spies or not? They’d be alerted soon enough.” Bull’s voice was full of respect (and lust) for the redheaded Spy.  
  
All eyes turned when Eliana perked up.  
“The Magister and his guards will be too distracted with me to notice Leliana’s people.” She was grinning wolfishly. Solas almost felt sorry for Alexius; the Magister had no idea who he was dealing with.

 

“Yeah, but the problem is, we don’t know _when_ he’s gonna send for the Herald. It could be days, could be weeks.” Varric scratched at his chest hair.  
  
“Oh, I believe I may have some good news for you on that account.” Dorian grinned widely as he stepped out of the shadows to the sound of Leliana and her dozen companions all unsheathing their daggers.

 

“How lovely to see you again, handsome.” Eliana lifted her hand almost lazily, and the daggers were put away, though warily.  


“And the same to you, darling! You are the picture of beauty….Though, your hair does need a brushing.” Dorian was grinning even wider now, striding towards her with an air of ( _infuriating_ ) confidence. He bowed deeply as he extended to her a letter in his hand.

**“** A love poem? Alexius is so charmingly persistent in his pursuit of me,” Eliana joked as she unsealed the letter. She read silently, before passing it over to Leliana and Cassandra.

“How did _you_ manage to get the honor of delivering my invitation?”

“I may have followed the messenger, disposed of him, and hid his body in a barrel. Forgive me, darling, I just _had_ to see you again.” Dorian shrugged with mock-apology and pleading eyes. His clothes were finely tailored, and his vanity was apparent with his neatly combed hair and expertly curled mustache.

 

_Ostentatious._

 

Eliana merely giggled slightly and looked at Leliana, tilting her head to one side questioningly in that way she does.

 

“Lucky you, Herald. You’ll be meeting the Magister for lunch,” the Nightingale grinned wickedly.

 

“Oh, but I didn’t pack a dress!” She covered her mouth and widened her eyes. Cassandra scoffed gently, but smiled.  
  
“Little Fox,” Varric cooed, “you’ll knock him out, whatever you wear.” Once again, there was a light round of laughter.  
  
“I take it you’re coming with, Sparkler?” Dorian looked amused at the dwarf’s choice of nickname.

 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

Solas turned and slipped back into his tent, unnoticed.

 

* * *

 

She had only wanted to bring three or four of her companions, but none of them would hear of it. Now all eight of them were walking into the Grand Entrance, and they had formed some kind of V-shape behind her. Two guards stood at the bottom steps like statues, hands behind their backs, and wearing those ridiculous pointed hoods.

 

            “Announce us.” She spoke sharply, and with authority.  
  
A small, blonde Mage ran down the stair towards them now, stumbling and stuttering in perturbation.

            “The invitation was for Mistress Lavellan only! The rest will stay here.”

 

“Then I’ll just stay here with them, and Magister Alexius can come out to me.” Eliana acted as if she were checking for dirt under her nails before glancing up at the man, giving him a hard look. He glanced at her party, and then at Eliana’s indifferent shrug, before slowly nodding his head, conceding.

 

They followed him up the steps and into the throne room, and Eliana heard the sound of the guards turning and shadowing her companions in. She gave the most subtle flick of her wrist, as if shaking out an ache, and she heard a quiet hum of acknowledgement, though no one made any move to do anything.  
Yet.

 

“My Lord Magister, the Inquisition has arrived,” the man said meekly, bowing low as he stepped back, out of sight.

 

“My friend! It’s so good of you to come on such short notice! And your…associates, of course.” She subtly glanced back to them, mentally noting Dorian’s absence, before she nodded.

 

“I’m sure we can work out an arrangement beneficial to all parties.” He stood and gestured to her, as if they understood each other.  
  
Fiona stepped forward then, a sneer across her face.  
“Are we Mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?” Her tone dripped with indignance.

 

“Fiona, you would not have turned your Mages over to my care if you did not trust me,” the Magister said, both pointedly and dismissively.  
  
“If the Grand Enchanter wishes to be heard in our talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition.” Eliana smiled at the Magister sweetly, once again batting her eyelashes at him in naïve innocence. Fiona thanked her quietly, and Alexius returned to sitting in the throne, briefly throwing Fiona a scorching glare.  


**“** The Inquisition needs Mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?” He tented his fingers, reminding Eliana of a storybook villain.

 

“ Well, first, why don’t we have a little chat about time magic, and what in _anbanal_ the Venatori are.” She still was smiling sweetly, but her eyes twinkled with amusement as the Magister’s jaw dropped.

 

“Pardon me?” He was truly confused.  
  
“She knows everything, Father.” Felix stepped forward now.

 

“Felix, what have you done?” Alexius stood, his voice shaking with the betrayal.

  
“He’s trying to save you from yourself. Why did you want me here?”  
  
“Do you even _know_ what you are? You walk into my stronghold with that stolen mark upon your hand—a gift you have no comprehension of—and think _you_ are in control?! You are nothing but a _mistake_.” He spit the words at her, his body shaking and fists clenched with rage.  


“Oh, pray tell! What was _supposed_ to be accomplished with the Breach?” Eliana kept her face pleasant, but the disdain in her tone was venom.

 

“It was to be a Triumph for The Elder One! For Tevinter, for the world!” Eliana couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Felix stepped forward, speaking gently.  
  
“Father, do you know what you sound like?”

 

“He _sounds_ like the villainous cliché everyone expects from Tevinters.” Dorian strode from the shadows and around a pillar, briefly flashing Eliana a wink.

 

“Dorian! I gave you a chance to be a part of this, to make history, and you denied me. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes. He will save my Felix!” Eliana sighed.  
  
_He really just sounds like a raving lunatic now._

 

“So, it’s a ‘my cult is better than your cult’ thing.” Varric spoke, seemingly to himself.

 

“Well, the Imperium needs a chance to one-up that whole “starting the Blight” debacle.” Dorian half-turned to Varric with a smirk and a shrug.

 

“Yeah, okay, I’ll bite. Who is the Elder One?”

 

“He will make the world bow to Mages once more. We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas!”  
  
“You can’t involve my people in this!” Fiona stepped forward again, but no one much acknowledged her.  
  
_Poor thing…_  
  


“Alexius, didn’t we always talk about how this type of thing was something we wanted to _avoid_? What changed your mind?” Dorian actually looked angry now.

 

“Father, stop this. Set the Southern Mages free, let them close the Breach. Let’s go home.” Felix was pleading, and Eliana felt her heart ache for him.

 

“No! This is the only way! Felix, The Elder One can save you!”  
  
“Save me?” Now _Felix_ looked angry.

 

“If I can undo the _mistake_ at the Temple, The Elder One promised…”  
  
“I am going to _die_. Accept that, Father.” Felix was pushed back by Alexius as he stepped forward.  
  
“Venatori! Seize them! The Elder One will have this elf’s life!” But his face fell at the last of his words as he watched his guards all fall to the ground, throats slit and gushing blood.

 

Leliana’s people stepped from behind the pillars, and Eliana turned back to Alexius, face now grim.

“They are dead, Alexius.”

 

“You…You never should have existed!” He lifted his hand to show a glowing pendant on a chain, a slow and malicious smile crawling across his face.  
  
“NO!” Dorian yelled, throwing his magic at the Magister, and for a moment there was only the noise of chaos and the bright green glow of magic as Eliana was thrown to the floor, a tearing pain shooting from her mark up through her chest.

 

Then she blacked out.

 ****  
  
  


Suddenly she was standing knee-deep in water.  
  
“Blood of The Elder One! Where’d they come from?!” Two men were running at her through a cell door, heavily armored and carrying swords.  
  
_Well, okay. No time to collect my bearings, then._

 

She pulled her staff from her back, freezing one man solid, but before she could turn to the other, he had taken a bolt of lightning through the chest and hit the water with a splash. She glanced over to see Dorian and, with a smirk, she slammed the butt of her staff into the man-cicle, shattering him into pieces.

Dorian turned to her.

 

“Displacement? Interesting….Probably not what Alexius intended.”  
  
“How disappointing for him…” Eliana couldn’t help her exasperation, but Dorian didn’t seem to be listening to her, anyway.  
  
“The rift moved us...but to what? The closest confluence of Arcane energy?”  
  
“But, we’re still in the castle?” Eliana seemed pretty sure of that, though it was rougher down here than she would have expected. And there was Red Lyrium.  
  
_Grand. Simply fantastic._

 

“YES! It’s not a where, it’s a _when!_ Alexius moved us through time!” Dorian seemed entirely too excited.

 

“You are much too thrilled with this.” She wasn’t trying to be rude, she quite liked Dorian. But this was not an ideal situation.

 

“Sorry, dear. Let’s look around; see if we can’t figure out _when_ we are. And then how to get back…if we can.” Eliana groaned at this, a sickening feeling curdling in her stomach.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll protect you.” Dorian smiled at her in an attempt to be reassuring.

 

“And if we can’t get back?” She was scared to hear his answer. He shrugged now, looking worried himself…finally.  
  
“Then I suppose we make ourselves comfortable.” This drew a small, defeated laugh from Eliana, and Dorian smiled at her again before walking over to the door of the cell.

 

“Well, looks like it’s locked…” Dorian started before he looked back to see Eliana rifling through the pockets of the floating dead guard he had killed. She held up a key, smiling triumphantly, and he laughed.

 

The pair sloshed through the flooded cell, through hallway of empty cells. They climbed the staircase at the far side of the room to see— _yes_ , _of course_ —another hallway of cells. This one was dry, though there was an alarming amount of Red Lyrium growing off and out of every possible surface.  
  
“Alexius needs to fire his decorator. This is _not_ an improvement on the tacky, wooden dogs-and-wolves motif.” Dorian looked around disgustedly, but Eliana could see that he was truly disturbed by it all.

 

They wandered to the end of the hall, walking down another flight of stairs to the landing, where they could either go left, undoubtedly to more flooded stairs, or to the right, up into, what Eliana was convinced would only be more cells. She huffed, letting Dorian choose, and they went up.

 

Opening the door at the top, Eliana was surprised to find herself on some sort of…platform. There was a strange, drawbridge-looking door straight across from her, and on the right and the left, doors guarded by— _Fendhis._

 

Dorian looked at her, just as the four Venatori noticed them.

“You take left, I’ll take right?” She nodded and they both threw lightning bolts, stunning the guards before throwing themselves at their opponents.

 

 _Lucky my daggers were time-travel friendly_ …

 

She slid the one from her thigh with her left hand, grabbing the one at her waistband with her right after tossing her staff onto her back. She charged both daggers with her magic, letting the electricity spark and crackle off the blades, before slipping one under the helmet of one guard, easily slicing his neck from ear to ear and dropping him instantly. She heard the second guard come up behind her, and she moved quick to lift her leg into a kick as she spun to face him, ringing his head against his helmet like a bell. He staggered slightly, and she slid on her knees through his legs, reaching back to sever the tendons running up his heels without even looking. As he fell and began to scream, she turned and leapt onto his back, and in one smooth motion, snapped his neck.

 

As she sighed in relief and turned, she saw Dorian standing a few feet away, leaning on his staff and staring, as if watching a horse race.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do you always fight like that? You know, sans staff?” His voice was amused, but genuinely curious, his head tilted to one side.

 

“Yeah, usually. I didn’t come into my magic until I was nearly an adult and already trained as a hunter. Solas was supposed to teach me, but…I don’t know. He never got around to it, and then I made things weird.” She shrugged, dragging one of the bodies to the edge of the platform and pushing it off. She never heard it hit any sort of bottom, which made her shudder slightly, before moving to the other. Dorian followed her lead, dragging his own opponents to the edge.  


“He’s the bald hobo elf?” Eliana laughed once and nodded.  
“Then I sincerely doubt _you_ made anything ‘weird’, darling. Trust me.”

 

Having disposed of the Venatori bodies, they looked at each other.  
“So, which way?” Dorian asked, and Eliana shrugged before walking to the door on the left. It led down another staircase to another hallway, a door on their immediate right. They shrugged at one another and walked in.

 

Varric was in the first cell on the right, humming to himself. He glanced up at them, looked away, and—realizing that they were real—jumped to his feet.

  
“Andraste’s Sacred Knickers, you’re alive! How did you escape?”  
  
“We didn’t. Alexius sent us into the future.” Dorian shrugged, and Eliana helped Varric out of the cell.  
  
“Everything that happens to you is weird.” He looked at her, shaking his head.  
  
“Oh, so you noticed that too? Thank the Creators, I thought I was being paranoid.” Eliana tried to smile at him, and the dwarf managed a laugh.

 

“99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer…” It was definitely Bull’s voice coming from the far left cell, and Eliana couldn’t get to him fast enough. But when she approached, he growled at them…  
  
“You’re not real. I saw you both die.” He looked so angry, and Eliana suddenly started to cry.  
  
“Oh, _Bull…_ ” she whimpered, leaning against the cell bars. Bull shook his head and looked at her again, before reaching out to touch her hand.  
  
“It’s okay, Boss. You’re obviously here. What’s our plan?” He spoke gently to her, as if she might break, but she sniffled and wiped her eyes on her sleeve before smiling at him.

 

“We’re going to kick Alexius’s ass and try to fix all of this. Come with us?” She had already picked the cell lock and opened the door.

 

He smiled at her, but sighed.  
“Alexius isn’t the real issue. It’s The Elder One. He killed the Empress of Orlais, raised a demon army. You ever fought an all-demon army? Not recommended.”

 

“Alexius has the amulet. So, will you help?” He nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way.

 

“No time like the present. I heard one of the guards say he never leaves the throne room.”

 

They moved down a second flight of stairs, finding a locked chest nearly the size of Bull. Varric easily picked the lock to find Bianca, Bull’s axe, and the rest of their friends weapons. Eliana carried as many of them as she could herself. Dorian carried what she was unable to.

 

They found Cassandra in the next block, locked in a cell on the right, reciting the Chant of Light. Vivienne was in the cell across from her. Cassandra was begging for forgiveness…Vivienne believed they were a trick. It took a little convincing to get them out of their cells.

 

“Is someone there?” Eliana heard Solas’s voice at the back of the room, and her blood ran cold. She stepped over to him, tentatively, and laying her eyes on him, she found herself crying again. He shook his head, as if to clear his vision.

 

“You’re _alive_! We saw you die…” He looked at her in a way she had never seen from him before. He looked heartbroken, utterly defeated. She was sobbing now, fumbling with the lock-picks to get him out of that damned cell, before Varric calmly laid his hands over her own, taking the picks and opening the cell in no time.

 

He stepped out of the cell and reached out his hand, touching her hair, her face.

“Vhenan.“ He said it so quietly, she almost missed it. Her heart was suddenly beating so violently, she could feel her own pulse in her head.  
  
_Vhenan…Ma vhenan…Hahren…Ma Solas…_  
  
Her mind spun as Dorian gave him the story. Solas asked if the process could be reversed, but he did not look away from her, did not take his hand from her cheek for even a moment. The others had the kindness to look away, pretending to study the floor or ceiling.

  
“If there is any way to stop this, my life is yours.” Solas looked at her pleadingly, as if she were meant to understand something he could not say. She tried to blink away her tears, and he finally released her, straightening to his full height.  
“Let’s go.”

 

“Wait!” Eliana stopped everyone.

“Where’s Sera?”

 

 

 

They ended up going down another flight of stairs, and when they heard Sera singing a tune, then growing frustrated and arguing with herself.  
  
“Sera!” Eliana had everyone accounted for now. She felt a wave of relief.

 

Sera immediately cowered, calling them spirits, asking what she did to deserve to be haunted.  
  
“Sera, it’s me, I promise. We’re going to fix this. I need you.” Sera flung herself at Eliana, hugging her tightly. Eliana smoothed her friend’s hair, trying to comfort the elf girl.  
  
“Yer _here_. I’d fuckin’ _die_ ta spit in ther faces.”  


  
After she and Dorian had given them each their weapons of choice, they moved through a few more cells, before a thought occurred to Eliana.

 

“What happened to Fiona?” They all stopped and looked at her, before Sera bowed her head.

 

“She wus in tha cell ‘cross from mine. That Red Lyr-um shite ate her alive….But she _did_ say somefin’ ‘bout Leliana still bein’ in tha castle ‘fore she died.” Sera looked almost afraid of Eliana’s reaction, cowering a bit when she saw the Herald’s face harden and jaw clench.

 

“Well, then,” She spoke with a lot more conviction than she felt.  
“Let’s go get our Nightingale.”

           

They made their way back up through the seemingly endless cells and stairs, back to the platform. Cassandra jerked her chin towards the drawbridge that had been lowered. There were a half-dozen or so Venatori guards, and they had noticed them.

 

They crossed the platform, her companions moving into their usual protective circle around her, as if no time had passed for them at all. Eliana felt such guilt, such pain in her very soul, for her friends. All because she had not been there to help them.

 

She watched as Bull literally tore one soldier in half with his bare hands. Vivienne made another explode from the inside-out, something Eliana had never seen before—nor wanted to see again. Cassandra shield-bashed one guard off the platform, his scream echoing until it faded away. Solas, somehow, caused one man’s eyes to implode inside his head, allowing for Sera to shoot him through the heart as he screamed in pain. Varric sent an arrow from Bianca into the skull of the last Venatori guard, killing him where he stood before Cassandra casually pushed him, too, in the unknown depths under the platform.

 

They moved up the stairs as one, her companions falling into step as if they were of one mind.  
  
“These are the Guard Barracks, dear. Let’s see if they’ve anything useful, shall we?” Vivienne almost sounded like herself, and Eliana agreed, suggesting they split up. This was met with a near-uproar until she conceded to groups of two or three.  


“I will go with the Herald. Bull and Varric will stay close, should we need backup.” Solas had not only just volunteered to be alone with her, but he had said it with such authority, no one questioned him at all.  
  
He grabbed her elbow and led her into a room down the hall before turning to her.

“Eliana, listen to me.” His eyes searched her face, pleadingly.  
  
“I always do, Hahren.” She wasn’t teasing this time. She was more serious than she had ever been. He was very close to her, and even though the effects of the Red Lyrium on him scared her, he was still her Solas. He looked at her for a long moment, eyes still searching, before he spoke again. It was barely a whisper.

 

“Do you recall our conversation about what your mother told you? About Arlathan, the ancient Elvhen, about Uthenera?” She looked at him, confused. To her, that was only a couple days ago…to him, it was a year—at least.

 

“Vin, Hahren.” He clasped both her shoulders now, and she could feel the heat from his hands through her coat. She felt for a moment he stared _into_ her.

 

“As dirthem vindhru. _Ame shan Elvhan._ ” He looked in her eyes, trying to make clear the weight of what he had just told her, but she just felt dizzy, confused.  
  
_That’s not possible, though. They all died…._

“Boss, we found something—“ Bull poked his head in the door, his face showing immediate embarrassment and concern as he looked from Solas to her, how the Apostate was clasping her shoulders, and the intensity of the conversation he had just interrupted.

 

“What is it?” Eliana asked, immediately pulling herself away from Solas, grateful for the break in tension. She glanced back as she passed through the doorframe to see him giving her the same pleading look, desperate. All she could bring herself to do was nod to him once, knowing he needed the reassurance.

 

 

 

Bull brought her into another room, showing her a sheet of parchment on which was written _“A Prayer to the New God”_. Eliana felt sick and couldn’t bring herself to read the words, merely handing it off to Dorian as he came through the door with his own little discovery: a journal of sorts.  
  
“Well, apparently even the deranged Venatori think Alexius has officially lost his mind. Bodes well for us, I suppose…” Dorian was obviously trying his best to be positive, whether for her or himself, she didn’t know or care. She adored him for it.

 

Once everyone had returned from their searches and supplies and poultices had been handed out, they headed up the stairs at the end of the barracks. They hadn’t even reached the top of the stairs when they heard the screams of agony coming from the first visible door. Praying that Leliana was not dead to whatever deities might exist and/or listen, Eliana threw herself into the door.  
  
She was met with a disgusting sight, but the dead body of the victim chained up was, _Thank the Creators,_ not Leliana. She was so overwhelmed with relief, she hadn’t realized that the Venatori torturer was moving to attack her. Suddenly, she felt the full-force of a body slamming into her, pushing her out of the doorway and into the hall. She lay on the ground as she realized Solas had shoved her, and now was single-handedly choking the Vint to death, no doubt using his magic to both protect and strengthen him.  
  
Sera and Cassandra helped her up, while everyone else averted their eyes away from Solas as he dropped the now-lifeless body to the ground.  
  
“Thanks,” Eliana breathed, suddenly overwhelmed with the shock of what had just happened; what she had just witnessed _Solas_ do.

 

Vivienne looked her pointedly in the eyes and took her hand before leading her further down the hallway.They heard another Venatori talking to a prisoner, and Eliana saw the door was ajar.  
  
“You will break,” the torturer held a blade up to Leliana’s neck as she hung from the ceiling.  
  
“I will die first,” she spat back, just as Eliana pushed the door open fully. She locked eyes with the Spymaster.

 

“Or you will.”  
The guard had turned to see who had entered, and before he could even react,  
Leliana had lifted her legs up, wrapped them around his head,  
and snapped his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anbanal: Hell, Abyss, Nothingness  
> Fendhis: A curse, like crap or damn  
> Vin: Yes  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Uthenera: “The Long Sleep”, a sort-of hibernation for the Immortal Elvhen  
> As dirthem vindhru: She spoke truth  
> Ame shan Elvhan: I am (ancient/true) Elvhan. 
> 
> Usual apology for my terrible Elvhen & s/o to Project Elvhen <3


	11. Halam'shivanas (or: Adventures at Redcliffe Castle, pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final "In Hushed Whispers" chapter.  
> Eliana has to watch her friends die horribly in a terrible future,  
> and realizes how much these people have come to mean to her.  
> Also, she has a new BFF! (Guess who? Duh.)
> 
> I am SO GLAD to be done with Redcliffe, man! It's all Partytime from here!!  
> Y'know, except for the talk she's going to have to have with Solas...  
> But ANY Solas makes for Partytime, right?  
> Damn egghead....

Eliana quickly grabbed the keys from the Vint’s belt and handed them to Cassandra, who could reach the shackles on Leliana’s wrists. Eliana allowed her to use her for support before she gained enough strength on her own.

“That was impressive,” Eliana tried to joke.  
  
“Anger is stronger than any pain.”

  
The Nightingale looked…like Death. Her once full, rosy cheeks were now ashen and hollow, covered in wrinkles and scars. Her skin clung to her bones, showing the shape of her skull beneath it. Her sharp eyes were now sunken in their sockets.

 

“Do you have weapons?” Eliana nodded.  
“Good. The Magister should be in quarters….”  
  
“Aren’t you curious how we—“ Dorian started, confused.  
  
“ _No._ ” Leliana hissed. She had walked over to a trunk in the corner of the room, looking for her own weapons. Cassandra handed her the key ring.  
  
“Alexius sent—“ Eliana now grabbed his arm and looked at him sharply.  
  
“Dorian. Don’t.” He looked aghast, but followed along as Leliana led the way.  
  
They walked down a short hallway and out onto another drawbridge. Eliana looked down, seeing the platform down below, and the surrounding nothingness. Dorian pressed his hand to the small of her back, urging her to keep moving. As they approached the door at the end, Eliana felt a familiar pain.

 

“Ugh!” She fell to her knees, grabbing her left hand with her right as the mark grew bright, crackling and spitting. Solas knelt beside her, holding her mark in his hands. She felt his magic press into her, but she could also feel the taint in it from the Red Lyrium exposure.

 

“Ir abelas, da’len,” was all he said, looked even more tortured by her pain.  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she whispered back.

 

There was a rift and spawn though the door. Her friends made quick work of the demons, allowing Eliana to close the rift quickly enough, though it felt like it was tearing her arm to shreds. Her companions allowed her a moment to regain her breath, as it was coming in short gasps. Bull and Varric were working on a gear, and once Bull had it turned, a gate was raised.

“This way, through the docks.” Leliana once again took the lead. They walked up the stairs and through another archway. Two mages were on a low platform in front of the water, calling out their “Sacrifice for the Elder One” before suddenly being replaced by Shades. Cassandra and Bull killed them in passing; Leliana had merely kept moving up another set of stairs.  
  
They had emerged in a Courtyard, and once again, Eliana’s mark lit up. She closed it, only managing a scratch from a Terror before they moved on. Leliana seemed to know exactly where they were going, leading them across the courtyard into another part of the castle. They once again spread out into the rooms, and Dorian found Alexius’s journal.  
  
“He really has gone mad. His Elder One never saved Felix…He’s now just living-dead. What a horrible, horrible mistake.” Dorian spoke softly, only to Eliana, as the rest of their party plundered potions and poultices. She looked at him, eyes full of sympathy, but laid a finger to her lips and glanced towards their companions. Dorian nodded, patting her arm gently.

 

Leliana urged them now to follow her again, and they moved down a flight of stairs. In the room at the bottom of the stairs, there were Three Venatori, a handful of demons, and another rift.

 

Varric and Sera took down the two marksmen in one shot, each. Solas moved forward to the Spellbinder, slinging magic so quickly, so viciously, that the Mage could not have hoped to keep up. Leliana, Cassandra, Bull, and Vivienne were killing demons left and right, but the rift was still open, allowing more to spawn.

  
Eliana ran as fast as she could, sliding under Bull’s sweeping axe, dodging Vivienne’s furious staff, and threw her mark into the rift. She pulled at it with all her mana, all her strength, until it snapped shut. She collapsed to the floor, still conscious. Vivienne knelt beside her, cradling her head as she raised first a healing- then a Lyrium potion to her lips. Eliana was relieved to see the bottle glowed blue as she swallowed it down.  
  
“The rifts here seem stronger than….” She trailed off, guilt coiling in her belly like an angry snake.  
  
“They are.” Solas didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. She looked at him apologetically.  
  
“Hey, uh, this Mage had this on him?” Varric appeared, holding up a Red Lyrium shard.  
  
Dorian had already walked over to the giant metal door across the room, studying the Arcane seal placed on it, and when he saw Varric’s loot, he walked back over.  
  
“We’re going to need four more of those. The seal on that door,” he gestured behind him, “needs five shards to open.”  
  
There were four doors they hadn’t been through, two on each side of the room.  
  
“Okay, lets split up into twos and find the rest.” Eliana pulled herself to her feet, and was met with wary eyes.  
  
“You do not need to fall out again. You are safer with all of us.” Cassandra sounded like _her_ Cass; motherly and protective.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s the fastest way. Bull will come with me.” She didn’t look at Solas. He had been too intense earlier, and she hadn’t even had time to try to think about whether what he had said was true, or even _possible_.  
  
After Cass handed Bull a couple of healing and Lyrium potions (“ _Should Eliana exhaust herself again”_ ) and Leliana insisting she join the pair, the rest split up, and each took a door.

 

Eliana, Leliana, and Bull walked quietly to the door in the north-west corner of the room; the Spymaster gently guided the door open silently, despite the rusty hinges, and they peeked in.  
  
“Looks like the idiots are too busy praying to their “Elder One” to bother standing guard,” Bull whispered, voice so low that Eliana could hear his lips moving more than the actual words. He was right, they were all facing away from the entrance, heads either bowed low or thrown back, eyes closed. Some even had their arms raised. It was cultish and disturbing, increasing Eliana’s feeling of nausea.

 

Leliana caught her attention, nodding to a ladder next to them, leading to some scaffolding where Leliana could get the best shot. Eliana nodded, looking to Bull. When he looked down at her, she gave him an apologetic smile before pointing to him, and then to the praying Venatori. He grinned, understanding. He was to be the distraction. Leliana had already started to climb the ladder, slowly and completely silent, and as she reached the top rung, she looked down with a nod.

 

Bull ran out into the room with a roar, all guards turning to face him, startled and fumbling for their weapons. Eliana grabbed her staff, freezing solid the first man to get a grip on his sword. Bull had already cleaved one Vint in two, and now he shattered the block of ice with his axe. She looked up to see Leliana creeping close to the lone Spellbinder, arrow already strung, bow pulled tight. Eliana stepped out towards the middle of the room, throwing a ball of flame at the Mage. It was just enough to distract him, and she watched as Leliana’s arrow pierce in one his left temple and out of his right. Blood poured from his eyes and nose, and he hit the floor. Bull had beheaded the final guard with a single, smooth swing.  
  
Leliana jumped down off the scaffold, and Eliana saw the fleeting wince of pain. She wished she had learned _some_ healing magic; seeing her friend like this…. But Leliana wouldn’t want her pity, and she wouldn’t have accepted any healing. Her pain _drove_ her, now. In the past year, this is who she had become.  
  
She watched the Nightingale tear through the Spellbinder’s robes before lifting the shard. She stood up and turned to Eliana, opening her mouth, closing it, and then finally speaking.  
  
“Thank you. For coming back. Even if we can’t change this…Thank you for trying.” She bowed her head as she saw Eliana’s eyes well up with tears. They turned to leave the room, and Bull looked at her face, waiting for her to start sobbing again. But the Dalish girl did not cry this time, did not sniffle. She gritted her teeth, clenched her hands.  
  
_This will not happen. I will fix this. On my life, I **will fix this.**_

Dorian and Sera had returned first, and as Sera handed the shard to Leliana, Dorian quietly slipped something into Eliana’s hand. A note, Studies on the Blight. It had just a few descriptions, though in horrible detail, about what had been done to Leliana. Eliana briefly swept her eyes over the notes before folding them and sliding them into a pocket in her coat. Dorian was staring at the floor, eyes wide, and his usually warm olive complexion looked pale. Eliana slipped her hand into his for a brief moment—giving his hand a squeeze, allowing him to squeeze back—before taking her hand back and sitting cross-legged on the ground.

It felt like they waited a very long time, especially with Leliana pacing the floor like a Red Lion in a cage, but finally, everyone had returned with their shards. None of their companions would let Dorian or Eliana touch them as, “neither of you have been tainted by it yet.”  
  
Everyone gathered close, now, as Solas slid each shard into one of the five notches. As the last one was placed and Solas took a step back to stand beside her, the magic of the seal of the door dissolved in a bright green light, and Eliana took a deep breath before walking through the archway.

 

_Here goes….everything._

 

 

 

“Alexius!” Eliana didn’t want to talk to him, she wanted to hurt him, but she felt Solas wrap his hand around hers, and felt slightly calmer; though, not any less angry.

 

“Ah, and here you are.” He stood, facing the fire at the end of the room. The throne had been pushed to one side.  
  
“I knew you would come. Not that it would be now, but I knew I hadn’t destroyed you….My final failure.”

 

“Was it all worth it, Alexius?” Dorian almost sounded sorry for his old mentor, but the rage shaking his voice was unmistakable.  
  
“It doesn’t matter now. Now, we just wait for the End.”

 

“The End.” Eliana was asking without asking, she was too beside herself, and her voice came out flat.

 

“The Elder One comes now. For me, for you, for all of us.”  
  
Suddenly Leliana had moved forward, snatching up another living-skeleton, someone who looked familiar, and held him by his hair, her blade to his throat.  
  
“Felix!” The Magister took a step forward now, arm outstretched as if pleading the Spymaster to release him. Eliana felt the air leave her lungs in shock.  
  
“That’s _Felix_? Alexius, what have you _done?_ ” Dorian’s mouth was agape, and he was hissing at the Magister with pure venom.  
  
“He would have died, Dorian! I _saved_ him!” Alexius’s voice was still pleading, desperate, but Leliana’s eyes were dead—void of any emotion or caring.  
  
“Please, don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything you ask!” Leliana paused for a moment, as if waiting for Eliana to speak, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe. And then…  
  
_Oh._

 

She felt a single tear slip down her cheek as Leliana dropped Felix’s poor, lifeless body to the ground. His blood pooled from the gash in his neck, more black than crimson.  
  
“ ** _NO!_** ” Alexius screamed, throwing all his magic at Leliana, flinging her across the room and into the wall like a ragdoll. Cassandra had run over to her, helping her up.

 

The Magister then turned to the rest of them, eyes nearly black with rage and hatred. She felt the tainted strangeness of Solas’s corrupted magic as he wrapped a barrier around each of them.

 

Her Warriors charged, her Rogues let fly arrows, or slashed as they danced around him, her Mages barraged him with magic. Eliana herself did as much as she could, throwing magic, stabbing and slicing at him with her blades. His own barrier was so incredibly strong, but she could feel them weakening it. He was growing tired, the force of Bull’s axe finally collapsed his barrier.  
  
Eliana moved in quickly, but he had instantly fade-stepped away, tearing open a rift where he had just been. Demons now spawned all around them, and she was doing all she could to keep them off of her. She stabbed, slashed, threw whatever magic she could think to muster. Finally Bull and Cassandra had slashed their way through to her, and she was able to reach up and seal the rift shut….only to collapse again from the sheer energy it had stripped of her. Solas took another two bottles from Bull, helping her finish both before pulling her to her feet.

 

Dorian, Leliana, and Vivienne had Alexius on his knees, fighting to keep his barrier up, but Eliana saw he was at the end of his mana and his body couldn’t keep up the fight. She ran then, as fast as she could, as she charged both of her daggers with as much energy as she thought able without passing out, and jumped at him. As she thrust down, she felt his barrier break under her daggers, and then they easily slid into his weak, mortal flesh.

 

She stepped back, feeling slightly weak, and watched as Dorian reached forward and closed the Magister’s eyes. He then peeled open the dead fingers and took the amulet before standing with a sigh.  
  
“I’m sorry.” It was all Eliana could say right now. Dorian just shook his head and sighed again.  
  
“Well, this is the same amulet he used before. Actually, I think it’s even the same amulet from Minrathous.” He gave a slight chuckle of relief.  
  
“Give me an hour to figure out the spell, and—“ Leliana ran up, frantically.  
  
“An **_hour_** _?!_ That’s impossible! You must go, _now!_ ” The ground shuddered violently, gravel and dust falling from the ceiling overhead. There was an echoing screech that seemed both somehow close and far away. Eliana looked up to her other friends, seeing the sheer panic on their faces. She felt her heart drop into her stomach.  
  
“ _The Elder One,_ ” Leliana breathed.

Her companions all looked at each other now, nodding in agreement. Eliana felt the overwhelming urge to vomit, having some idea of what they were about to say.  
  
“We’ll head out front, keep them off your tail.” Bull said, resolutely. Eliana looked at each one of their faces—Vivienne, Sera, Varric, Cass…. _Solas—_ they all shared the same look of determination.

“NO! I can’t let you die!” She sobbed, reaching a hand out, like Alexius had reached for Felix.  
  
Solas stepped forward to her, taking her hand, and Leliana touched her shoulder briefly before she spoke.

 

“Look at us: we’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes.” She turned away, walking towards the door now.

“Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”  
  
The rest of her companions nodded at her, some smiled, before following Leliana. Only Solas stayed a moment more. His faced her, taking her small chin in his long fingers, leaning down to look her in the eye.  
  
“Vhenan, ane galanor ema emithem.” He kissed her lips, and she felt so much he had not said: his regret, his loneliness, his despair, and his _affection_. When he pulled away, she could still feel the ghost of his lips on her own, and she looked up into his eyes, tears freely streaming down her face.  
“ _Mala irotha,_ ” he urged, turning and pulling the stave from his back as he began to run out the doors.  
  
She turned to Dorian now, who was holding the amulet and chanting quietly to himself, eyebrows furrowed. She walked and stood next to him, unspeaking—not willing to break his concentration. The amulet had just begun to glow and rise to hover above his hand, when the doors where thrown open, Leliana and Solas walking backwards, fighting as hard as they could. Demons poured in the doors, throwing aside the lifeless bodies of her companions. Leliana took an arrow to the shoulder, just as Solas was struck by some lightning spell Eliana didn’t recognize.

 

“ ** _NO!_** ” She heard herself scream, felt her feet move towards them—but Dorian grabbed her arm sharply.  
  
“If you move now, we _all_ die.” He looked her in the eyes and she nodded. He lifted the amulet to hover higher now, and as she felt the rift open brightly and green behind her, she turned to look at Solas’s now-dead body lay on the floor, to watch as Leliana went down fighting, pulled apart by a Terror demon’s claws. And even as she was sobbing Dorian wrapped her in his arms, and pulled her through.

 

* * *

 

 _No, no, no….Where is she? She’s dead._  
_Wait, No! She’s there. It failed? Thank Mythal, Eliana is alive._  
  


Solas had just watched her disappear into a rift, and now she standing a few feet away from where she had been, clinging to Dorian for dear life. When she realized they were back, she released him, and strode to Alexius, a rage in her eyes unlike Solas had ever witnessed. Whatever had happened, it had made her more angry than he had ever seen her.

 

As she took long, hard steps towards the Tevinter, Dorian crossed his arms behind her with a smirk.  
  
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he quipped to the now-cowering Alexius.

She was so small, but she lifted the Magister off of the ground by the collar of his robes. Solas realized that she was sobbing, whispering something too quiet to the man before dropping him like dead weight, as he collapsed straight onto his knees, dead hung low. A scout came up behind him and shackled his wrists.  
  
Eliana just stood there for a moment, shaking, before she turned to them. She was accounting for faces, assuring herself they were all present. Her eyes locked with his own for just a second too long before she looked away, and he knew something horrible had happened. When she had seen everyone she had hoped to, she flung herself at them, hugging each one in turn as she sobbed violently.  
  
Solas had taken a small step back, but before she could turn to him, there was the steady beat of many footsteps in time, and two lines of soldiers marched into the throne room, lining up along the pillars.

 

“Grand Enchanter, we would like to discuss your abuse of our hospitality.” The King and Queen of Ferelden were standing in the Grand Entrance, looking quite displeased.

 

“Y-your Majesties…” Fiona stepped forward now, shoulders shrugged in a flinch.

“When we offered the Mages sanctuary, we did _not_ mean for our people to be driven from their homes!” Queen Anora was indignant.

_And rightly so…But at the wrong people._  


Before Fiona could stutter out an explanation or apology, King Alistair had effectively banished them from Ferelden. Solas noted that Eliana had righted herself, attempted to remove the tearstains from her cheeks, and strode forward.

 

“B-but we have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?” Fiona was pleading with the King.  
  
“You’ll come with us. We’ll offer you protection.” Eliana spoke now, standing as tall as she could, she clasped both hands behind her back and spoke soft and politely. Fiona turned to her, concerned.  
  
“And what are the terms of this arrangement?”  
  
“Probably better than Alexius’s “help”. The Inquisition _is_ better, right?” Dorian had a smile in his voice, and was looking at Eliana proudly.  
  
“Stick ‘em up a tower!” Sera called out, and Solas felt his eyes roll before he realized he had done it.  
  
“I suppose we don’t have much of a choice, whatever your offer may be…” Fiona said, worriedly.

 

“If you would honor us with your help in closing the Breach, we would afterwards happily call you Allies.”  
  
This was met with a series of grumbles from the party, and Solas furrowed his brow, concerned.  
  
“ _After_ we close the Breach, Herald?” She turned to look at him sharply before turning back to Fiona with a gentle smile, a voice full of reassurance.  
  
“You will not be our prisoners or slaves, but after what happened here today….After what I saw—I would like to consider the time until the Breach is closed as a “probationary period”, if you will. You, of course, would be in charge of any punishment, should one of your Mages merit such action. But you will not be turned out into the cold, and you will be provided with food and drink and protection.”  
  
Solas felt himself relax slightly.  
_She is right to be wary of some of the Mages, and this “probationary period” will help appease Cassandra and Cullen._  
  
“I would take that offer, were I you.” Alistair’s lips were pursed and Fiona bowed her head.

  
“We accept. It would be madness not to. I will ready my people for Haven.” She slowly backed away, before going to tell the Mages.  
  
Eliana bowed deeply to the King and Queen, who, to everyone’s surprise, returned the gesture.  
  
“You have a kind heart, Herald of Andraste.” Anora smiled at the Elf gently before taking her husband’s arm and walking back out.  
  
  
Eliana walked back over to the party, where she was immediately bombarded with everyone’s opinions on the matter—yelling over each other, yelling _at_ each other, gesturing wildly with their hands…But they all went silent as she pushed through and walked over to Dorian, leaning on him with most of her weight.  
  
“I just would _love_ to hear everyone tell me individually what an idiot I am, but if you’ll excuse me, it’s going to have to wait.” Dorian scooped her up, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees.  
  
“Take me back to the camp,” Solas heard her say to Dorian as he carried her past. “We have one last order of business before we can go home.” He saw her head fall into the Tevinter’s shoulder then, and heard the man chuckle.  
  
“There, there, darling. You just get some rest for now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halam'shivanas: The sweet sacrifice of duty.  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Vhenan: (My) heart  
> Ane galanor ema emithem: You are magnificent to have (been) beheld, *Said in the manner one would say "farewell"  
> Mala irotha: Now, quickly.
> 
> Apologies for my Elvhen & s/o Project Elvhen for helping me mangle words a little less.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have stuck around so far! I'm excited to get going on the next chapter, but damn, my wrist hurts. I think I hold my hands improperly when I type....  
> Anyway, THANK YOU AND I LOVE YOU AND 'STAY TUNED'!!!! <3 Muah!


	12. Enter: Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana deals with some emotions, and makes good on her   
> promise to Leliana to deliver a certain Grey Warden.
> 
> Short and sweet. 
> 
> Translation for Mir Da'len Somniar:  
> "Sun sets, little one,  
> Time to dream  
> Your mind journeys,  
> But I will hold you here.  
> Where will you go, little one  
> Lost to me in sleep?  
> Seek truth in a forgotten land  
> Deep with in your heart.  
> Never fear, little one,  
> Wherever you shall go.  
> Follow my voice--  
> I will call you home.  
> I will call you home."

They had only spent a few hours at the camp near the Crossroads. Once Eliana had been placed on her horse—with Dorian behind her, holding the reins—she had insisted that they move to the Upper Lake camp at Lake Luthias. When Cassandra asked why, she said it was a favor she had to do for Leliana.   


“You all don’t have to come. You can stay here or head back to Haven. You’ll likely make it by nightfall. I’m not in immediate danger.” Eliana was so visibly tired, no one argued with her. Sera, Vivienne, and Varric all decided to head back to Haven. Sera and Varric both hugged her, and Vivienne kissed both of her cheeks and stroked her hair. “See you soon, darling,” she had said, and Eliana had felt her chest swell.

  
It only took them about a half-hour to ride there, but Eliana had slept the whole way, leaning against Dorian. On their way from Redcliffe, the others had tried to ask her about what had happened, but Dorian had brushed them off.  
  
“Leave the poor thing be. Can’t you see she’s exhausted?” He chastised, and that had shut everyone up. Solas had stayed quiet, she noticed. Just watching her, a look of slight concern. When he had thought she was finally asleep, though, she heard him pull his horse next to her Da’assan.

 

“I don’t mean to pester,” he said quietly to Dorian, “but _why_ exactly is she so exhausted?”

           

“She was the only one able to close all the rifts we came across. And many of them had been there for a year, gaining strength. She used all her mana and strength fighting and closing.”

           

“I understand that you believe you were sent a year into the future, but what happened to affect her so?” Solas’s voice was probing, worried, but Dorian wasn’t as oblivious to her tension with Solas as he pretended.  
  
“I think that’s for her to tell.” He said it gently, but firmly, and she didn’t hear any more of Solas’s voice as she slipped into sleep.  


 

  
_“Vhenan,” he had called me… “Ane galanor ema emithem…” His lips were so soft, even split with dehydration, even tainted with Red Lyrium. He had kissed her like an apology, like he was trying to repay a debt._  
  
Dorian had stopped her mount, and scooped her back up, immediately handing her to Bull.   
  
“She’s not heavy, but my arms are getting sore,” he made the excuse while kissing the top of her head as her eyelids fluttered open.  
  
“Ah! She lives!” He chuckled. She looked up at Bull now and smiled, trying to hold back tears again.  
  
“Hey Bull.” She knew her voice was coming out tiny, high-pitched, but she wouldn’t let herself cry again. Not right now.  
  
“Hey, Boss,” He said, his warm and affectionate timbre vibrating through his chest.  
  
“You can set me down.” He lightly set her on her feet, and Cassandra asked her if she needed anything.   
  
“No, just a short walk. I’ll be back soon.” Eliana smiled, but it was half-hearted. She started to walk off towards the waterfall.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Solas told Cassandra as soon as the Dalish girl was out of ear-shot. Cassandra nodded in gratitude, and he turned to see Dorian leaning against a tree, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. Solas ignored him, quietly moving past the trees and reeds, staying close-but-not-too-close behind Eliana as she waded around the shallower areas of the ledge.   
  
He watched as she took off her boots, unwrapped her feet, and climbed onto a rock. She sat slowly, trailing the tips of her toes in the water. She looked off into the late-afternoon sky: the sunlight hitting her high, distinctly elvish cheekbones, causing her eyelashes to shimmer and her hair to turn to that crystalline-white gold he wanted so desperately to touch.

 

And then, he watched as she began to weep. Her whole body shook, but she made not a sound. She covered her face with both hands, and he heard the quietest little sob escape her. He didn’t realize what he was doing until he had reached her.  
  
“Go away, Solas.” She barely managed to whisper it through her fingers, and he knew he should listen, but he couldn’t bear to leave her like this.  
  
He lifted her off the rock, sitting in her place and cradling her across his own lap. He rocked back and forth, he hummed the tune of Mir Da'len Somniar, his fingers stroking and twirling her hair. She began to whisper the words under her breath along with his tune.  
  
“Elgara vallas, da'len,  
Melava somniar,  
Mala taren aravas,  
Ara ma'desen melar,

Iras ma ghilas, da'len,  
Ara ma'nedan ashir,  
Dirthara lothlenan'as,  
Bal emma mala dir,

Tel'enfenim, da'len,  
Irassal ma ghilas,  
Ma garas mir renan,  
Ara ma'athlan vhenas,  
Ara ma'athlan vhenas.”

 

She looked up at him now, and he pulled back some, so he could see her face.   
  
“Ar ithem ma dinem,” she whispered, so gently, “sul em.”

 

“And I would again, da’len.” He was trying to comfort her, but she shook her head angrily and peeled herself from his arms.  
  
“You don’t understand! You could not possibly understand.” She splashed through the water now to the nearest dry patch of land and threw herself on the ground like a sullen child. But, her face….  
  
_I said something. I did something to hurt her._

“What did I do, da’len?” He could barely make himself whisper it. She had been innocent, and he had put her in harms’ way. She sat up and looked him in the eye, several different memories flashed across her face, and he wished he could know what they were. She looked away now, a deep crimson swept across her cheeks and her ears. It was so lovely against her skin, and brought out the warmth in her dusky lavender eyes. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, before closing it again. He did not move, did not breathe. He just waiting, unknowing what his fate could be. How much he had told her…  
  
“You…kissed me.” She still didn’t look up at him. He didn’t know quite how to feel. He sat down next to her, carefully keeping a small distance so their shoulders would not brush.  
  
“Before I died for you?” He knew the answer, and she nodded without looking at him. He took her chin in his hands, turning his face to his own, looking her in the eye.  
  
“Is that not fair payment enough?” He was making light of it, and he saw several more emotions flash across her eyes before she allowed him a laugh. He noticed it was tinged with hurt, and something else. Something unsaid.  
  
“I owe you more than that, Hahren,” she teased, standing and brushing off her leggings. He stood too, gathering her foot-wraps and boots for her.  
  
“Well, you shall just have to repay me later, then.” She looked at him side-long and he flashed her a wolfish smile as they started back to the camp. They walked silently for a moment, but his frustration was getting to him. He suddenly stopped, placing a hand gently on her shoulder, brushing a thumb against her neck to hear her breath catch. She stood perfectly still as he leaned in.  
  
“You know, da’len, should you need to talk, I am here.” He merely pressed his forehead against her own, looking into her eyes.  
  
“Perhaps tomorrow, Hahren? It has been…a long day.” She still looked into his eyes, expectantly, but then he pulled away.

 

“Of course, da’len. I am merely offering.” He took a step forward then, looking back for her to follow. The pain and disappointment on her face were fleeting, but he knew, if he were to kiss her then, he would have tasted it on her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Eliana didn’t know how long she had been asleep, only that she couldn’t take the nightmares anymore. She kept seeing Cassandra’s dead and broken body tossed aside by a Terror demon, Bull’s growl at her outside his cell, Vivienne telling her that whatever trick she was, it wouldn’t work; Varric being torn apart by a Pride demon, Sera cowering from her in fear, Leliana reciting The Chant before being overcome entirely by Venatori….Solas’s pleading looks, his kiss, his words.

_“As dirthem vindhru. Ame shan Elvhan.”_

_It was the Red Lyrium corruption. He didn’t know what he was saying._

And the wolf, from before. The one with six eyes, glowing in the darkness. It was present in every memory, every nightmare of a world that had not yet come to be. It merely sat and watched.  
  
_Fen’Harel. It could only be the Betrayer._

 

She had told Cassandra firmly she could no longer bear her snoring, and that she would share a tent with Dorian tonight. It wasn’t said cruelly, just out of impatient exhaustion, and luckily Solas and Bull knew better than to tease the Seeker about it. The sun hadn’t even set yet, but she crawled into her tent anyway, falling quickly into sleep. Now she looked over at Dorian’s sleeping form, hearing his whimpers, listening as he muttered _“Felix”_ over and over. She climbed out of the tent.

 

It had to be close to dawn now; she could hear a loon call out over the lake. She felt so alone, and this caused her to feel guilty. She had been surrounded by supportive companions—people she now thought of as friends—but she still felt as though she stood atop a mountain without protection, all of her friends just out of reach on a ledge beneath her. She missed the feeling of knowing someone was in this with her, without option or willingness to walk away. Someone she could hold fast to.  
  
_“_ _Laleal.”_

“Who is Laleal?” She jumped, startled, only to see Solas standing at the opening of a tent. She was confused.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Laleal. You just said the name. You’ve said it before, in your sleep.”

 

She looked down and rubbed her arms, suddenly cold in just her nightshirt, trying to think of an answer that wouldn’t be an obvious lie, but neither the whole truth. He approached her, wrapping a warm blanket around her shoulders.  
  
_When did he grab a blanket?_

 

“She was…my best friend.”  
  
“Was?” He didn’t ask pressingly, not really. Just noticing the word she had chosen.

 

“She died.” She heard her own voice catch, and

 

“Ir abelas, da’len.”

 

She shrugged, not looking at him. Just then, Cassandra emerged from her tent.  
  
“Herald! Go get dressed, you’ll catch a chill.” Eliana nodded and moved back to her tent, catching Cassandra shoot Solas a scathing look. She woke Dorian gently, and Cassandra woke Bull…not so gently. They ate some roasted ram, left over from dinner, and packed their things.

 

“If this goes quickly, we should be back at Haven by nightfall.” Eliana sounded more like herself now, the sun of a new day slowly rising to warm her face. They mounted their horses, and Dorian again rode with her, as he didn’t have his own mount yet. As they trudged up the hill to the actual lake, Dorian whispered in her ear.  
“I should complain, so your hobo Apostate offers to share _his_ saddle.”  
  
“You could handle his mount better than Da’assan without me astride,” she hissed back, not realizing that she was still leaving the option open.

 

They dismounted at the edge of the lake, tying their horses to the tall post of a dock before heading across the planks towards a small shack. Dorian had hung back enough to let Solas walk behind her, and Eliana felt her ears redden. As they got to the end of the dock, she could see a burly, bearded bear-of-a-man, hearing his voice carry over the water as he yelled as some very young men.

 

“Line there, and there. No gaps. Remember how to carry your shields: you’re not hiding, you’re holding. Otherwise, it’s useless.”  


Stepping off the planks onto solid land, she approached him slowly, trying to make her footfall produce noise.

  
“Blackwall? Warden Blackwall?” He turned abruptly, walking towards her quickly, suddenly very near her.  
  
“You’re not…How do you know my name? You’re not—“ She was just above eye-level with his chest, when he threw out his shield, catching an arrow. She suddenly heard a yell, and turned to see a handful of bandits approaching.

 

“That’s it. Help, or get out. We’re dealing with these idiots first.”

 

She threw herself at the only rogue with daggers, as Solas quickly took out the archers. Bull hacked at one bandit, and before Cassandra could attack one of the remaining three, the young men had run one through the heart, and shortly thereafter decapitated the second. The last one to fall was at Blackwall’s own sword.  


He approached the bandit that his recruits had run through, dropping his sword into the ground at the point, easy to pull out by the hilt. He knelt next to the body.

“Sorry Bastards.” He murmured before standing, turning to the three young men.  
  
“Good work, conscripts. Even if this shouldn’t—Well, thieves are made, not born. Return what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves.”

 

Eliana walked back towards him tentatively, stopping a few strides away.

 

“You’re no farmer. How d’you know my name? Who are you?”  
  
“I’m an agent of the Inquisition. I’ve been asked to investigate whether the disappearance of the Wardens have anything to do with the murder of Divine Justinia.” She shrugged, trying to look as disinterested as some youngling being paid to do a simple task.  
  
“Maker’s Balls, the Wardens kill the Divine? No—you’re asking, so you can’t know. First off, I didn’t know they disappeared, but—y’know. No more Blight? Wardens are the first thing forgotten. But I can tell you this, no Warden killed the Divine. We don’t serve politics.” She shrugged again, widening her eyes as she looked into his own.  
  
“I wasn’t accusing. I just need information. Do you know where the rest have gone? You’re the only one I’ve found.”  
  
“I haven’t seen another Warden for months. I recruit, travelling alone. Not much interest though, with no Blight coming and the archdemon a decade dead. Our treaties give Wardens the right to take who and what we need, and with those idiots fighting, I conscripted their victims. Next time, they won’t need me.” Blackwall sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and looked back up at her.

 

“Grey Wardens can inspire. Make you better than you think you are.” Eliana sighed this time, and smiled as politely as she could, feeling as though she had let Leliana down.

 

“Thank you, Warden Blackwall…but this didn’t help at all.”She began to walk away, back towards the dock, with her friends following her.

 

“Inquisition, wait a moment.” Eliana turned slowly, raising an eyebrow and taking a step back towards the Warden.

 

“The Divine is dead, sky torn. Times like these, being absent is almost as bad as being to blame.” He paused for a moment, searching her face, before setting his jaw firmly.  
“If you’re trying to set things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.” Eliana smiled at her companions, and then at him.

 

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Warden Blackwall. C’mon. Grab your things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Ane galanor ema emithem: You are magnificent to have (been) beheld, *Said in the manner one would say "farewell"  
> Mir Da'len Somniar: roughly “Towards a Child’s Dream”, a Dalish lullaby (Translation in Ch. Summary)  
> Ar ithem ma dinem: I watched your dying  
> Sul em: For me  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da’len: Little One, Child
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen and dragonage.wikia.com for the Elvhen I butchered.


	13. Fen'Hahren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Eliana note some things about each other, have a nice talk,  
> and then Eliana seriously pisses Solas off.
> 
> This is my last little chapter before I go ahead into the  
> whole Breach-closing, Elder One/Corypheus, aftermath of Haven debacle. 
> 
> So, I used ENTIRELY too much Elhven in this chapter,  
> but I promise it was for a purpose, and I promise  
> it won't happen again....for a while, at least.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, kudos, and comments!  
> You guys are more inspiring to me than an 80s Power Ballad.  
> <3 Muah!!

      On the return trip to Haven, Solas found himself enjoying how easily Warden Blackwall had joined their sense of camaraderie. He told stories that made Cassandra laugh, teased Bull for his horns, asked honest questions of Dorian with genuine curiosity—seeming to easily keep an open mind.  
  
Eliana, he noticed, still looked drained and distant. He had snuck into her dreams, seen her memories. He heard the secret he had told her.  
  
  
_She seems like she doesn’t believe it. I don’t know what I could have possibly been thinking, telling her that. She still hasn’t mentioned it to me…._

He watched her sitting astride Da’assan ( _she really loves that horse)_ , Dorian tucked in the saddle behind her and talking non-stop. He noted that the Tevinter kept a single hand gently on her waist, not her hip. Solas couldn’t quite figure out the nature of her sudden attachment to the man, but he did not think there were any romantic feelings between them. The Tevinter just seemed a source of comfort for her—one that no one else had yet to provide. He had seen Eliana’s eyes well up with tears a few times, unnoticed by anyone else, and with just a few quiet words whispered into her long, pointed ear by Dorian, her eyes would dry and she would laugh or whisper something back. Cassandra seemed incredibly disapproving of their abrupt closeness, eyeing the back of the Mage’s head as if she could bore a hole through it with merely her gaze.

 

As they finally arrived back at Haven, he saw Eliana’s shoulders visibly relax. The relief she felt was almost tangible. Cullen, followed by a struggling-to-keep-up Josephine, and an obviously amused Leliana, all but ran at them through the main gate. The Commander grabbed the reins of Eliana’s horse, offering a hand to help her down. Solas noted he looked like he was resisting the urge to crush her in a hug. She brushed away his hand with a gentle laugh as she dismounted.  
  
“I am not some Court Lady, Commander, you don’t need to help me off my horse.” She patted Da’assan’s nose affectionately as Dorian dismounted, and was rewarded with a puff of air and nuzzle against her cheek, drawing a giggle from her. She handed her reigns to a stable hand who had appeared, and began to walk towards the gate with all of the confidence and energy Solas knew she was drained of. Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra were all in-tow.  
  
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” He glanced over to see Blackwall, with Dorian standing beside him.  
Solas did not respond, just looked over to the stable where Da’assan had been lead in and given a bag of oats.

“That Commander seemed awfully _eager_ to help her, didn’t he?” Dorian asked the question pointedly, but didn’t look at him.  
  
“Well, with a woman as confident as lovely as that one, can ya blame him?” Blackwall chuckled....  
  
But Solas couldn’t help but note he had used the word woman— _not elf, or knife-ear…or child.  
_  

“Don’ you two have a thing goin’ on?” Blackwall asked Dorian, drawing Solas back from his thought.  
  
“ _Us?_ Oh, most certainly not. We just happened to share a very…difficult experience. Anyway, I’m not her type,” he laughed sharply, “and she is definitely not mine.”  
  
“Because she is an elf?” Solas heard the words come from his mouth, but hadn’t meant to say them.  
They were dripping with malice. Dorian looked genuinely confused for a moment.  
 

“What? Maker, no,” he flapped his hand, dismissively, “She hasn’t got the…right parts. And anyway, she prefers Apostates.”

  
Dorian walked away, cackling, and Solas could feel the tips of his ears redden. 

  
“The right parts? Wha— _Oh._ ” Warden Blackwall was as red as the heart of an Embrium, and he shuffled off towards the blacksmith.

 

* * *

 

 

“Herald, Vivienne and Varric tried to give us some idea of what happened, but we need your report.” Cullen was matching her stride easily, but he was already wearing her out with his energy.  
  
“Can’t you get it from Dorian? He was there too.” Cullen looked confused.  
  
“Dorian?”  
  
“The Tevinter Mage I mentioned. The one with the moustache.” Leliana was amused by Cullen’s sudden blush. 

“Ah, yes, well we’ll be certain to get a report from him too, but we still need yours.” He was basically walking backwards now to look her in the face. Eliana noted Varric in his usual spot, looking very entertained by the show as they passed.  
  
“Speaking of whom,” Cassandra chimed in now, with her stern-mother voice. “Do you really think we can trust him? Now that the business at Redcliffe is done, you should probably send him home.”  
  
“He wants to stay and help,” Eliana replied, trying to keep calm.  
  
“Yes, but—“ Eliana turned on her heel and stopped dead, looking Cassandra in the eye.  
  
  
“He saved my life. He saved _your_ life. He _saved all of our_ lives. He **stays**.”  
  
  
Eliana knew she had just made a scene, and that Cassandra’s hurt feelings were visible on her face, but she found herself tearing up again. Cassandra’s face softened, and she reached out a hand, pressing it against Eliana’s cheek briefly before withdrawing it, shocked by her own behavior.

“As you say, Herald.” She kept her voice and eyes soft, even if the contact was out of character for her. Eliana smiled at her before turning again, ignoring the glances shared between the advisors.

 

“To the War Room?” She almost smiled as they clamored to follow her again.  
“Oh, and, Cullen? Carry Josephine, will you? She can’t walk through the snow in those ridiculous shoes.”  
  
Neither of them argued, but Cullen promptly set her down as soon as they entered the Chantry, and Josephine huffed, a blush barely visible under her warm, brown skin.  
  
“You don’t like my shoes?” She asked quietly, now able to keep pace with Eliana.  
  
“They’re lovely, Josie. Just not practical for anything but indoors.” She smiled warmly at the Antivan, and received an eager smile back. She hadn’t ever called her Josie before.  
  
As they walked in the War Room, Eliana tossed herself down in the only chair, and immediately began removing her boots as Cullen closed the door behind them. They all looked shocked, except for Leliana, but she told them it was a long story so she might as well get comfortable, and tucked her feet up under her.  
  
“Actually, you’ll all want to get comfortable. You might want to get some more chairs.” Leliana and Josephine looked at each other before kicking off their own shoes and climbing onto the War table, snuggled together like old friends. Cassandra and Cullen shared a sigh, and left for a moment, each returning with a chair. Josephine grabbed her quill and parchment, eyes wide and ready.  
  
Eliana rubbed the bridge of her nose, took and deep breath, and began.

* * *

 

 

Eliana had been in the War Room for hours, now. They had arrived shortly before sunset, but now she had missed dinner. Solas made an excuse to go speak to Vivienne in the Chantry.  
  
“First Enchanter,” he bowed slightly, playing to her love of formality. She sat in a Velveteen chair, a quill between her fingers, and her usual headdress sitting on the desk beside her.  
  
“Solas, my dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She smiled, and seemed intent on remaining polite for a while, as everyone seemed, considering the delicate state their Herald was currently in.  
  
“I was hoping you might have some books I could lend to the Herald? As you know, she has no magical training to speak of—formal or otherwise.” Vivienne smirked. He knew he was manipulating her vanity, but whatever he felt demeaning right now might ultimately be for Eliana’s benefit.

“Oh, of course, dear! She seems to be best with lightning magic, so this one should help her hone that—with some guidance, of course. And this one with walk her through strengthening her ice magic. Though, what she really should be focusing on is her fire magic. I only believe I’ve seen her use it once—“ Vivienne was interrupted but the door of the War Room opening, and she and Solas both peeked around the corner to see...a mess.  
   
 Josephine was crying, Cullen was rubbing the back of his neck and trying to control his features, while Cassandra looked stone-faced and Leliana had her hands on the Herald’s shoulders, leaning in to look her in the eye.  
“You did not let us down. You have already altered this future, perhaps even stopped it from happening entirely. You carry a burden none of us could possibly understand, but know, you have saved us once already, and we will be by your side for whatever else is thrown at you.” Leliana’s words were strong and heartfelt, and she did not speak to Eliana as though she were some fragile thing.

 

Eliana thanked the Nightingale with a long hug. Solas could see now that she had been crying again, but that her tears had been dry for a while. She moved to hug Cassandra next, to returned the gesture meaningfully, if not a bit stiffly. She hugged Josephine, and Solas could hear the Ativan ambassador whisper an apology into the elf’s hair. Finally, she moved to hug Cullen, who reacted at first as stiffly as the Seeker had, but quickly tightened his embrace. Solas saw his lips moving in a whisper, but not even Leliana seemed to notice or hear what he said.  
  
Eliana finally stepped back, and Vivienne and Solas quickly pretended to “act natural,” sharing a conspiratorial look: _this never happened_.  
  
“We will wait a day before going to close the Breach,” he heard Cassandra call out. “Get some rest, Herald.”

 

As Eliana was passing by, Solas lifted up the books that had been stacked on the desk.

  
“My thanks, Madame De Fer.” He nodded to the Iron Lady, who smiled back, glancing pointedly over his shoulder.

“Oh, any time, dear. We must all do our part to help the Herald.” She turned back to the letter she had been writing, and Solas turned, knowing he would be facing Eliana.

 

“Hahren?” She looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and head tilted.  
  
_I love that tilt. The perfect line of her jaw, continued up to her ear._  
  
“Da’len.” He bowed slightly, before wondering why he had done so.  
  
“Were you just leaving?” Her head still tilted, and she made to take a step forward before pausing, silently asking if he would follow her. He nodded and they stepped out of the Chantry into the cold, clear night.  
“I didn’t know you and Madame Vivienne spoke often.” She spoke nonchalantly, but he knew when he wad being called out.  
  
“We don’t. I just knew she would have some books that would be of use to you.” He nodded to the tomes on his hands.

“Oh?” She looked at the books questioningly, taking one from him; her fingers grazing against his thumb as she lifted to examine it in the bright moonlight.

_Moonlight on Moonskin…she almost glows, it’s ethereal…._

 

“They’re to help you train your magic. I promised my assistance several weeks ago, and I have lacking in my duties as ghi'len.” He gave her a small smile, and she graced him with a laugh.

“Never, Hahren. I have been neglecting my duties as a lan'sila. And you have been too busy playing Ladarelan, Da'len'amelan, and Falon to teach much.” 

“Falon?” He didn’t mean to question it, it caught him by surprise.  
  
“Are we not friends, Solas?” She looked at him now, slightly hurt, but also hopefully, as if she hoped he would correct her.  
  
“I just was unaware one could be a Da'len'amelan _and_ a friend to the same person,” he teased, his face almost entirely composed but for the glint in his eye and the suggestion of a smirk at the corner of his lips. 

She chuckled quietly and then sighed, slowly walking towards her cabin as he silently walked next to her.  
  
 

“Sastrahn del, da’len?” She stopped then and turned to him, searching his face. She pursed her lips slightly for a moment, before shaking her head slightly, and smiling, though her eyes had the slight squint of suspicion he hadn’t seen her look at him with in weeks.  
  
“No, Hahren. I just have not spoken so much Elvhen with anyone but my mother. And you never seemed to question whether or not I would understand you, though you know, I’m sure, that most Dalish clans rarely speak much Elvhen anymore.”  
 

_She is too quick._

“You spoke to me first in Elvhen. If I had said anything you did not understand, you wouldn’t have replied to me, at least not in any way that made sense.” He shrugged, keeping his face blank, passive. She laughed and shook her head, continuing on until they reached her borrowed “home”.

  
“Shall I take these from you?” She asked, gesturing to the books. He handed them over to her, wordlessly. 

“We have a free day before the last of the Mages arrive to close the Breach. Would you mind if I borrowed you to practice a little?” He furrowed his brow, confused momentarily, before he realized she was referring to the books in her hands now.  
  
“Ah, yes. Ma nuvenin, da'len.” He bowed slightly, and she laughed, opening the door to her cabin and passing through, but not closing it.  
  
  
_Is she expecting me to follow her in?_  
  
  
She walked back outside, her arms now free of the tomes, and she pulled the door shut.  
  
“Are you not going to bed? It’s very late.” He raised an eyebrow, noticing she had put on the thicker of her two coats.  
 

“No, I’m going to The Singing Maiden to eat, since I missed dinner. Then, I think I’ll go check on Da’assan.” He pursed his lips at that.  
  
“You mean, “I think I will go take Da’assan out for a ride, in the middle of the night, without any protection or company.” She grinned wickedly and pressed a finger to her lips…then she dropped her hand and looked off towards the moon, her face suddenly hardened, as though she was steeling herself against something.  
  
“You wouldn’t be too eager to sleep either, if you had the nightmares I do.” She said it flatly, and before he could speak, she had gently laid a hand on his shoulder, smiling weakly, before walking off towards the stables.

She had decided to skip dinner, he supposed.

 

* * *

 

_Damn Wolf…_

Solas had been drilling her for close to three hours now, having her cast spells at a practice dummy….with her staff, _without being allowed to move towards it._

It hardly helped that she was surrounded by snickering soldiers and Mages. And _Cullen_.  
  
_At least he was trying not to laugh. He even tried to get me out of it._

_“Shouldn’t you be resting before tomorrow, Herald?”_

_But nooooo, that damn Wolf had to be a Hahren…_

_“Commander, The Herald can only benefit from practice. If she gains better focus over her magic, it will only strengthen her as she attempt to close the Breach.”_

 

It’s not like she was missing her target. But she felt no sense of urgency, so she was merely singeing the dummy, or frosting it, instead of successfully, well, _blowing it up._

_Well, if that’s what Fen’Hahren wants, that’s what Fen’Hahren will get…_

  
She stood still for a moment, closing her eyes, letting her anger, frustration, pain, longing all rise within her—until she could feel it under her skin, tingling at her fingertips as her magic seemed to be fueled with it, inflamed by it. She remembered what Vivienne had said,  
  
_“The staff is a focus for your magic, an extension of it, allowing you to direct your magic with more ascendancy. You only gain by its successful application.”  
_

She allowed herself to extend her magic into the stave, sending it through her fingertips and into the wood, but not yet releasing it. She felt the staff almost vibrate in her hand with the sheer magnitude of her magic. She exhaled, opening her eyes, and in one fluid movement, twisted the staff around her and pointed it at her target.  
  
  
It immediately went up in flames with a loud, “WHOOOOPHHH”, but she had already stepped into her next move, spinning again and pushing more magic through the end of the staff—

And the flames themselves were frozen solid, a loud CRACK breaking the now-silent training yard. And before she would give Solas the opportunity to speak, she spun her staff once more, slamming it to the ground with a thump.  
  
A bolt of lightning appeared from a cloudless sky, striking the solid block of ice, and shattering it, and the dummy, into splinters of wood, ice, and the lambswool they used for padding.  
  
  
  
She took a breath—deep but even, controlled—and turned to her audience. They stood silently and wide-eyed, some soldiers even with their mouths agape. She noticed a couple people swallow nervously. Then Cullen began clapping, and more people joined until the field was just the noise of hands slapped together.  
  
“Okay, okay. Please, don’t.” She mock-bowed, but put her hand up in seriousness; the clapping trailed off.  
  
“Don’t you all have work to do, or something?” She was still annoyed, and the crowd seemed to scatter like so many birds. Solas approached her, his hands clasped behind his back, broad shoulders back, chin high.  
  
  
  
“Son ajuem, da’len. What changed?” He was looking down his nose at her, as usual, half-lidded. His grey-blue eyes seemed darker somehow, like a storm. 

“I remembered something Vivienne said once.” She shrugged, sitting down on a barrel.  
  
“And that would be?” He followed her over to where she sat, still towering over her.  
  
“Something like, ‘Focus your magic _through_ your staff, darling, not _with_ it’.” She did her best Vivienne impression, and earned a chuckle from Solas.  
  
“Nothing about allowing all of your rage and vexation to be the magnification for your magic?” She looked up at him now, not answering, eyes wide. She had the impending sense that she was about to receive some serious tongue-lashings.

“It is not always a bad thing, Eliana. But if you are even slightly distracted, it will do much more damage than you intend, and likely damage _to_ much more than you desired.” His voice had become lower now, and she felt a flush across her face and—to her immense surprise—a stirring in her core.

He had _excited_ her. And that, she found, made her very angry.

 

“La ma dirtha, Fen’Hahren,” she hissed.  
Suddenly his face was very close to her own, and his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them.  
  
“ _What did you just call me?_ ” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the danger in it caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand up.  
  
“F-Fen’Hahren…. Ar den esayal samahlas. _I-Ir abelas, Hahren._ ”  
She looked down, scared of the anger she had seen in his eyes, and heard him pointedly walk away over the snow.

 

“Herald, are you okay?” Cullen was suddenly standing next to her, and she realized she was shaking.  
She looked up into his face, at his sweet, concerned attempt at a smile, and merely nodded.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Commander.” She climbed down off the barrel, brushing the snow off the back of her coat and leggings.  
  
“You two seemed a little…intense? Like you were arguing?” He was genuinely worried for her.

_Always so sweet, Cullen._

 “I was...disrespectful, and made a play on words that he didn’t much care for, that’s all.” She smiled up at him, chuckling a little, to set him at ease.  
  
“Oh? What was it?” Cullen was grinning now, looking like a da’len about to receive a sweet.  
She lowered her voice to a hush.  
  
“Have you heard of Fen’Harel? The Dalish Trickster god?” He nodded, earnestly.  
  
“Well, since I call him “Elder” all the time—‘Hahren’—I thought maybe calling him ‘Fen’Hahren’ would make him laugh. You know, ease up a little.”  
  
The Commander threw his head back with a laugh, and she tugged on his arm, getting him to bend down low enough so she could put her hand over his mouth. She saw his blush, but ignored it, only whispering through her own laughter.  
  
“Cullen, you can’t repeat it to anyone, okay? It was _so_ disrespectful, and he got _so_ angry….Please, just keep it our little secret?” She was giggling, but the begging was clear enough in her eyes, so when she removed her hand from his mouth, Cullen smiled and made a gesture as if he were buttoning his lips together.  
  
“Our little secret, Herald.”  
  
“Please, call me Eliana. You know, when you can.” They both blushed now and she started to head to the tavern.

 

As she got near the gates, she glanced up to see Solas leaning casually against the stables, watching her with a blank expression in his icy-grey eyes.  
She quickly looked ahead and passed into the town, shrugging her coat tighter against her body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Da'len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ghi'len: Teacher, Guide  
> Lan'sila: Student  
> Ladarelan: Healer, Doctor  
> Da'len'amelan: Babysitter, lit. “Child Keeper”  
> Falon: Close friend  
> Sastrahn del: Something wrong  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Son ajuem: well crafted, well created, well acted, *Basically “Well done.”  
> La ma dirtha: As you say  
> Ar den esayal samahlas: I was attempting to be funny/make a joke  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen and dragonage.wikia for giving me a  
> beautiful language to massacre with my ignorance or Linguistics <3


	14. In Her Heart Has Burned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana survives Haven.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3

It was his fault she was gone. He had been so angry with her after her little jab at her training practice, he hadn’t spoken to her again afterwards. Even when she was agreeing to suicide in order to save the rest of them, he hadn’t said anything, hadn’t begged her to stay. And now, like the rest of Haven, she was buried under a mountain. He followed the rest of Haven’s evacuees, climbing slowly some hidden mountain path.

His thoughts reeled, trying to put in order the memory of the last 12 hours or so….

 

_“Mages! Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!”_

_He could hear her intake of breath, and, when he turned, see her shaking from nerves and pain. This close to the Breach, her mark was brighter than ever before, pulsating and crackling with his own magic._  
  
She had walked forward, and immediately her fight to keep from coming too close to the Breach, to being sucked in, was obvious. All at once, the Mages plunged their staves into the ground. He could feel their magic hum under his feet. Eliana had closed her eyes, focusing intently, and exhaled as she thrust her mark into the Breach, fighting to keep standing, fighting the pain he knew was tearing through her entire body.

_There was a loud crash, like thunder, and then an explosion. He was thrown backwards into the ground, the force knocking the air from his lungs briefly. As he leaned up, he watched Cassandra crawl before dragging herself to her feet, running over to the form of the small Dalish girl. He managed to stand himself up, looking over to see if she lived…begging she lived. Cassandra had lifted her head, watching as the elf’s eyes fluttered open._

_“You did it,” the Seeker had said to her quietly, helping her slowly to her feet._

_Eliana had looked around, searchingly, and finally laid her eyes on him. They were full of emotion: regret, apology, pride, hope…But he didn’t even nod at her. He merely turned away, walking back to where he had tied up his mount._

_Later, when all of the festivities had been in swing, he saw the Seeker speak to her. She had been sitting atop a wall, watching her friends and the townspeople as they dancing and drank. She glanced at the mark on her hand bitterly, and he was sorry for her. But he still did not speak to her. When they heard the horns, and she ran to the front gate, he had followed, but at a distance._

_“I can’t come in unless you open!”  
Then the boy-that-isn’t arrived and she fearlessly threw the gate open._

_“I’m Cole. I came to warn you—to help. People are coming to hurt you. But, you already know…” She put her hand on his arm, gently._

_“What’s going on?”_

_“The Templars are coming to kill you.” He said it all matter-of-factly, no threat or insinuation in his voice._

_“Templars! All because we sided with the Mages?” Cullen was doubtful but he could see the mass army pouring into the valley._

__  
“The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him. He knows you. You took his Mages….He is very angry you took his Mages.” Cole pointed off to an overhang in the distance, a Darkspawn towering over the Lord Seeker at his side.  
  
“Cullen, give me a plan—anything.” Eliana’s voice was more demanding than panicked. Like she had been waiting for this moment.  
  


_“Haven is no fortress…” Cullen was unsure, almost resigned already. He had sent them to help the soldiers and Mages at the trebuchets. Eliana stopped to fight off the monstrous Red Templars from every civilian along the way. After they had fired the trebuchets, causing an avalanche on the approaching army, the dragon had shown up, and they had to retreat. Cullen stood at the main gate, ushering in anyone left outside._  
  
“Get to the Chantry,” he had said, but she had ran around, instead, fighting off Red Templars and saving the apothecary, as well as several other townspeople. Finally, they ran into the Chantry, and she moved to help Cole carry in the Chancellor as Solas had closed the door behind them.

_“He tried to stop a Templar. He’s going to die.” Again, the boy spoke so matter-of-fact. Solas recognized what the boy was, but he kept silent now._  
  
“Charming young man,” the Chancellor said weakly, as Cole moved to set him down on a bench.

_“Herald, that dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” Cullen had approached her again, standing just close enough to her to bother Solas._

_“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He wants_ you _.” Cole looked her in the eye._

_“If it will save these people, he can have me.” Solas had wanted to shake her, at that. ‘But if she wanted to be an insolent child, let her’, he had thought._

_“It won’t. They don’t matter, but he’ll kill them anyway. I don’t like him.” Cole shrugged._

_“You don’t—ugh, Herald. The only thing that might stop them is an avalanche. If you can turn the remaining trebuchet….” Cullen was losing his temper with Cole, but he was still thinking like a soldier. Too much like a soldier._  
  
“We’ll bury Haven!” Eliana was frustrated, at a loss. Solas could see the conflicting thoughts behind her eyes.   
  
“Chancellor Roderick can help. There’s a secret path. He will show us.” Cole scooped up the Chancellor and carried him off towards the rest of the people in the Chantry.

_“But what of your escape?” The thought had finally occurred to him, but when he looked at the determination in her face, the Commander had known better than to argue._

_“Just get these people out of here, Cullen.” She spoke to him sternly, and he turned away, calling out to the people still standing about._  
  
Before she walked through the doors, she looked at him. She opened her mouth, as if to speak…and then closed it again; her full lips pressing together as her chin quivered slightly. Her eyes looked at him pleadingly.

_But he had just turned away, walking out with the rest.  
  
___  
“She knows parts of you, parts you didn’t want her to know. Parts she doesn’t know she knows. She was sorry. She wanted to tell you that.” Solas looked now to the Boy next to him, pulling a cart with the unconscious Chancellor behind him.  
  
“Cole. Yes. You remember. I can’t make you forget, like the others.” Solas smiled at him. This spirit-boy. Compassion.  
  
“She’s not dead, you know. Not yet.” Solas stopped dead in his tracks.  
  
“How do you know?” He heard the pleading in his own voice.

Far off, Cullen was telling everyone to make camp for the night.   
It had been only been dark for two hours or so. They had made relatively good time, after the avalanche.  
  
Cole tilted his head, as if listening.

 

“She’s waking up now. She’ll be trying to follow soon.” Solas felt his heart pound in his chest.  
  
“Don’t say anything like that to the others just yet, Cole. Let me try to take care of it. And….”  
  
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about you, Solas.” Cole smiled at him, and moved on, helping to set up tents and cots.

  
Solas looked back the way they came, over dark miles of snow, whispering into the wind.

 

_“Rosa soun, Vhenan.”  
_

 

* * *

She was so _cold_. She looked up, trying to guess how far she had fallen.

  
_20 feet? More?  
_

She could hear the creaking of the wooden planks above her. The ones she had fallen through. They were heavy with snow, and they would collapse under the weight soon. 

She rolled away from the hole in the ceiling of…

_What was this? A cavern?_ _No, a tunnel._

 

Everything hurt. She knew she had more than a few broken bones, but she couldn’t stay here. She would freeze to death.   
            _I’ll probably freeze to death anyway…_

 

She dragged herself to her feet. At least she hadn’t broken a leg again. She moved forward, slowly. Clinging to the wall of the cave, she shuffled along. She didn’t know how long she had been out, or even really where she was. But there was only one direction.  
  
She finally saw light ahead. Well, not light, but lighter than the tunnel she was in. She had been stumbling along, blind. But as she got closer, she could see the light of the moon reflecting off of the snow. She was facing what used to be a forest…now it was only felled trees, laying against each other like tall grass that had been walked on. Far off, she heard howling. A whole pack of wolves, woefully crying into the night. 

            _Fen'Harel, take me. I’m going to die here._

But she kept moving, stumbling ever forward.

 

Finally, she had reached a place where the trees had not been felled by the avalanche. She had passed the point of shivering, now. Her fingers were purple, and her ears were so wind-burnt, they almost felt warm. She coughed violently, spitting bright scarlet onto a blanket of white  
            _Probably not a good sign…_

  
She remembered the scarf in her pack, the one she had received as a supposed gift—though no one had taken credit for bestowing it. She thanked the Creators Cassandra had forced her to take her pack with her everywhere. She hadn’t taken it off since she left that little hut this morning to close the Breach.

            _This morning?_

It felt like days ago. She dug through the pack with difficulty, struggling to move her frozen hands, until finally she pulled out the scarf. She wrapped it around her neck and head, protecting her ears from any further frostbite or wind-burn. She pressed on.

 

It had seemed like hours, and she was so tired. Her legs were giving out, her lungs were aching. She coughed again; more blood. She fell to her knees.   
  
_Just lie down. Just sleep._

 

But something caught her eye. A few meters away, a pile of ash and embers, still smoking. She got up, but it hurt. She stumbled a few more steps, looking at a cliff-face nearby. She made to step for it, but her body couldn’t take it anymore. She fell on her knees, and the shadows moved in her vision. She thought she heard voices…

_“There! It’s her!” Cullen’s voice was beautiful, like honey in warm cream.  
__”Thank the Maker!” Oh, Cassandra. I could’ve listened to your Nevarran accent forever._  
  


Her body curled into itself and she felt more blood trickle from her lips—but before she blacked out, she could’ve sworn she felt the warm tickle of fur on her face, and Cullen’s voice, one last time.  
            _“I’ve got you, Eliana. I’ve got you.”_  
  


* * *

  
He wanted to snatch her from the Commander’s arms, but he allowed her to lie her down on a cot. Blood was dripping from her pale blue lips, and her skin was nearly a pale lavender. He had asked to be left alone with her, for the canvas to be pulled around them. Cullen had shot him a look of distrust, opening his mouth to argue.

  
“You do not understand, Commander. She has extensive internal bleeding. She is _dying_. I need to work.”   
At that, the soldier had lowered his eyes and nodded, secluding them—for now—in a canvas cocoon of privacy.

 

He immediately set to removing her scarf and shirt, pressing his hands on either side of her chest, and pushed his magic into her, allowing her ribs to pull themselves from the punctures they had left in her lungs, for her soft-tissue to heal, bones to suture and blood to be reproduced. After he was sure she wouldn’t die from internal bleeding, he re-set her left arm, letting his fingers trail over his mark, before snapping her bones back in place and urging along their healing. With no more immediate dangers of death or disfigurement impending, he knelt down to remove her boots, foot-wraps, leggings, and breast-band, leaving on her small-clothes, and wrapping her in a blanket before leaning out of the canvas flap to beckon Mother Giselle.

 

“The Herald is in danger of death from Hypothermia,” he whispered to the Chantry Mother, handing her Eliana’s soaked and freezing clothes.

 

“I need several more blankets and a dry set of leggings and foot-wraps for her.” Mother Giselle nodded, thankfully not asking after her Herald’s modesty.

  
He moved back into the makeshift room, pulling one of his few shirts from his pack, and gently lifted her to slide it on her. He attempted not to look, but the memory of her small breasts, smooth stomach, all covered in her moonsilk skin… would live in his memory for eternity. He dutifully re-wrapped her in the blankets, and laid her back down, whispering in her ear.  
  
_“Melena, da'len.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosa soun: Remain strong, Endure   
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Melena: Wait, rest, lit. Hold time  
> Da'len: Little One, Child
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen


	15. Felasil'en (or: 'The Dawn Will Come' Fiasco)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana suffers through the whole "The Dawn Will Come" sing-a-long fiasco,  
> and then yells at everyone. But, on the bright-side, _Da'assan!_
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 xoxox

The first time she awoke, it was fleeting.

She was aware that she had been swaddled in blankets, and even if she had the energy to move, she wouldn’t have been able to. The next thing she realized was the familiar magic that seemed to flow through the blankets and into her body. There was another body in the cot with her, and she recognized the smell of old books and fresh earth and the lovely, almost-spicy fragrance of crushed Royal Elfroot…

            “My Wolf,” she whispered, leaning back into him.

She heard a light chuckle and a affirming hum.

            “Is this a dream?”  
  
She hadn’t been able to keep her eyes open, and felt herself drifting off again.

            “No, ma Halevune. Now, rest.”  
  
_His voice was everything…._

 

 

When she woke again, she was no longer swaddled, and Solas was gone. Mother Giselle was sitting at her side. She could hear arguing, and recognized the voices of her companions.

            “How long have they been at it?”  
  
Mother Giselle jumped slightly, surprised.           

            “Oh, Eliana. You’re awake. They have been squabbling for hours. You’ve provided them that luxury.”

Mother Giselle had stopped calling her ‘Lady Herald’ when they were alone, without her even having to ask. She was grateful for it, now.  
She sighed, lifting herself onto her elbows.           

            “Where is Solas?”

She tried to ask casually, but the Chantry Mother gave her a gentle, knowing smile.  
           

            “Your Commander found Solas in your cot with you, using his magic to thaw you out.” She chuckled a little, “They had quite the fight. Solas walked away, and hasn’t been back in here since. It was ridiculous. I told the Commander that there was nothing inappropriate about a fully-clothed Mage Healer transferring heat to a fully-clothed, hypothermic woman—Herald or not. Especially when you were wrapped so tightly in a minimum of _four_ blankets.”  
  
Eliana sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

            “There’s such a thing as too much chivalry. I don’t need my honor protected; I am not a child. And that they would forbid my closest companions from healing me….”

Mother Giselle patted her shoulder gently.  
            “I know. They expect to keep you safe from everyone inside a gilded cage. Well, _someone_ will have to tell Cullen that, while his gallantry is appreciated, it’s not his place,” the Mother said pointedly, “And Maker knows, he won’t listen to _me._ ”

 

            “Have I been out long?”

Eliana pulled herself to a sitting position now, stretching out her arms and rolling her neck.           

            “No, only about three hours. We’ve got about as long until the sun rises.”

The arguing erupted once again, louder this time, and the Mother turned to her now, expression serious.

            “This backbiting may threaten us much as This Elder One.”

            “Do we know where Corypheus is?”

            “We are not sure where _we_ are. Which perhaps is why, despite the immensity of his army, there is no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. "

            “If there is any chance he is still out here searching for us, we need to move.”

            “Your advisors agree, but where would we go? And there is more affecting them…”

She looked at Eliana intensely, the _Faith_ in her eyes, unnerving.  
  
            ”We saw our defender stand and fall. And now we have seen her return. The greater the peril before us, the more miraculous your actions appear…and the more our trials seem preordained. That is hard to accept, no? What “we” have been called to endure? What “we”, perhaps, must come to believe?”

            “I didn’t actually die. In honesty, I barely lived.”

            “Of course. And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw. Or, perhaps, what they needed to see. Can they truly doubt Andraste is with us?”  
  
            “Holy Mother, I don't see how what I believe matters. Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can't fight him with faith alone.”

Eliana stood up, walking to the opening of the little canvas room, and paused briefly.

            “Corypheus claimed he entered the Black City and found it empty….”

Mother Giselle rose and followed her out into the dark cold.

            “The Chantry teaches tale of Tevinter Magisters, in service of the false Old Gods, entered the Fade to reach the seat of the Maker in the Golden City. For their crime, they were cast out as darkspawn. This, they say, is why we suffer Blight; why the Maker turned from us. If even a breath of it is true, it seems only as proof that Andraste would raise her Herald to fight against him.”

The Holy Mother leaned close to her, then.  
             
            “An army needs more than an enemy to fight. It needs a purpose.”  
  
Eliana sighed, moving to walk away, when Mother Giselle started singing. She knew the song from one of the Holy Mothers in the small village her Clan often traded with. She had hated it even then.

_“_ _Shadows fall, and hope has fled._  
            Steel your heart, the dawn will come.  
_The night is long, and the path is dark._  
_Look to the sky, for one day soon,_

_The dawn will come.”_

 

Eliana wanted to scream at the people that had begun to surround her. They were kneeling, bowing, lifting their hands to her in reverence…  
  
            _No, no, no. You fools, you mark me for failure! For death!  
            I am no Prophetess, I know no Maker, I speak not for your Andraste! _

  
But she could say nothing. She merely stood and allowed them to sing. Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine all sang; even Varric and Sera were trying to mumble through the words they couldn’t remember. Eliana looked at the ground in disgrace, pulling her blanket tighter around her as she felt her ears grow hot with a flush of shame.  
  
            “A word?”  
  
The singing finally had stopped, but she hadn’t looked up, so when a familiar voice muttered in her ear, her heart nearly stopped.  
She looked up into his steely-grey eyes, and nodded.

  
She followed Solas out of the warm glow of the camps’ fires, and towards a brazier placed precariously close to a cliff’s edge. She felt the hammer of her heart against her ribs as he waved a long, elegant hand over the large lantern—enveloping it in the pale silvery-blue of veilfire—before returning his hand behind his back, to his usual commanding stance.

            “The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Her faith is hard won, lethallin, worthy of pride. Save one detail.”

He turned to face her now, and she felt herself swallow hard.

            “The threat Corypheus wields, the orb he carried, it is ours. Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived... and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”  
  
_Because, of course it is. Because, of course the elves can’t catch a break._

            “All right,” she said. “What is it, and how do you know about it?” She realized she sounded annoyed, but he smiled at her, like she had asked just the right question.

            “Such things were foci, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came to it, the orb  _is_  elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

            “Even if we defeat Corypheus, eventually they'll find a way to blame elves.” She sighed again, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose. He lifted her chin with a single, lissome finger, and she looked up to see him standing much closer to her than he had been before, his eyes lingering on her lips before moving to her eyes.

            “I suspect you are correct. But for now, you are above suspicion, allowing for us to be seen as worthy allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it: changed you.” He lowered his voice then, causing her pulse to quicken.  
  
            “There is a place that waits for a force to hold it, where the Inquisition can build, grow. Scout to the North, be their guide.” He released her and turned away, but only took a couple steps before looking back over his shoulder.

 

            “And, keep that shirt as long as you like, da’len.” She swore she heard the smile in his voice before he walked away. She loosened the blanket enough to look down, recognizing the worn cotton cloth and the faint smell of _him_.  
  
As she walked back to the camp, she tightened the blanket back around her and fought to hide the smile from her face.

 

 

When she got back towards the center of camp, she could hear the arguing again. They were making no plans, no progress; they were just encouraging bitterness and resentment towards each other. She felt her blood begin to boil, and she quickened her gait.

Cassandra, Leliana, and Cullen were in the center, doing the majority of the yelling, but they were surrounded by Blackwall, Vivienne, Sera, Varric, and Bull—all of whom were also yelling over and at each other. As she approached, she saw Dorian walking towards her briskly, Cole in tow.           

            “Eliana, darling, where have you been? We heard the most awful singing, and then you were nowhere to be seen—“

She held up a finger to stop him, not breaking her stride, but speaking sweetly over her shoulder.

            “Just a moment, my lamb, I have to deal with something.”

  
She strode straight into the center of the uproar, and stuck her hands out towards the chests of Cullen and Cassandra.

 

 

            “Shut _up_ , _Felasil'en, **Shut UP**_ **!** ”  
  
They all went silent—except of course Sera, who was muttering something about “ _using real words that actually mean things”.  
       _

            “Have you made any plans with all this arguing? Any progress? Do any of you feel like you have successfully convinced anyone else of your point?”

 

She looked at each one of them in turn, watching as they averted their eyes or shuffled their feet.

            “And are you _actually listening_ to each other? Giving your _friends_ ’  opinions a chance? Or are you just _screaming_ _over_ them?”  


Someone ( _Sounded like Vivienne, I think_ ) tried to speak up, but Eliana put her finger up again, almost as a dare.

            “Tomorrow, we’re packing up, and you’re all following me. When we get to where we’re going, you can decide if you want to stay and help, or if you want to go. But until then, you will remember that—at some point, each person around you has helped you, saved you, made you laugh, made everything seem better if only for a moment—and you _will_ work together. Does everyone understand?”

  
There were several murmured “ _Y_ es, _Herald”_ s, or _“As ya say, yer Ladybits”_ , and the group began to disperse…but she wasn’t done yet.

 

            “Oh, and Cullen? Next time I’m dying, if you could _refrain_ from sending away my Healer?” 

The Commander turned back to her, red in the face.

  
            “Did _he_ tell you—“ She cut him off with a sharp look.  
  
  
            “ _He_ did not say _anything_ about it. I’d appreciate some credit for my own observations occasionally, Commander. And if he were _really_ intent on hurting me or ‘violating’ me in some way, why wouldn’t he have done it while we were travelling together, instead of waiting until we were in a camp _full_ of people who are so interested in ‘ _defending my honor’_?”

Cullen couldn’t seem to speak, he just kept rubbing the back of his neck, probably begging the Maker to suck him into oblivion here and now.  
  


“And all of **_you_** ,” Eliana said, turning then to the remained of her friends, who had presumably stuck around for the show, huddled together and cackling like storybook villains. Their faces simultaneously fell into “ _Oh no_ ” expressions.      

            “If _any_ of you ever so much as _hum_ that song in my vicinity _ever again_ , I swear on your lives, you will find much worse, _much more venomous_ things than Sera’s lizards in your bedrolls.”

She gave them her most dangerous look…but then slowly let it creep into a grin. Her friends laughed now, though most did so nervously, and she looked over to see Dorian and Solas standing beside the tents. Dorian was slow-clapping and grinning like hyena, while Solas leaned casually against a post, arms crossed over his chest; the only evidence that he was resisting a smile was the slightest flare of his nostrils. Cole stood beside Solas looking endearingly absent-minded.

 

* * *

 

_She truly made her point_ , he thought the next morning, as he saw nearly everyone going out of their way to help each other. He chuckled to himself.

“You liked when she yelled at Cullen, but you thought he had done the right thing.”  
  
Cole, as usual, had appeared beside him, unexpectedly.  
Solas smiled at the spirit-boy, amused at his lack of understanding about things like jealousy or spite, and also glad for it.

           

“Cullen was being chivalrous. That’s what Knights are meant to be. And someone has to make sure she’s safe.”  
_  
Even from me._  

  
Cole tilted his head, reminding Solas of the way Eliana did, except Cole looked decidedly more _owlish_.  


“No. Not even from you. She is stronger than you think. And _more_.”

“More what?” Solas asked, amused.

“Just _more._ ” Cole shrugged.  


“She apologized to him this morning.”

Solas shrugged, continuing to pack up the row of tents, and Cole jumped down from the barrel he was perched on.  
  
            “He found her horse. She is pleased.”  
  
He looked up at the boy.

_Da’assan? The_ _ivory Taslin Strider?_  
  
Cole nodded. Solas closed his eyes and let out a slow exhale.  
  
            _Well, at least she is pleased._

He stood up and beckoned to Cole to help now, and they loaded another row of dismantled tents upon a cart attached to a—rather surprisingly affectionate—Bronto that Cole kept calling, “Buddy”.

 

  
As they moved to the final row, Eliana clipped over astride her horse. She dismounted with a little more spring and enthusiasm than one would expect from a mortal who laid dying not ten hours before.  
  
“Look who Cullen found!” She was beaming at him, and he calmly reached out to stroke the Strider’s muzzle.  
The horse puffed at his hand, and then gently nudged his cheek.

   
“Well, she likes you more than poor Cullen,” she laughed and he allowed her a smile. She flushed a little, and looked down for a moment.

                       

“I came to ask you….Everyone wants to know where we’re going, and I keep telling them I’ll know it when I see it. But, Solas, I’m lying to them. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

He wanted to chastise her for questioning his gift to her, but he couldn’t.  
_She doesn’t even know it’s a gift. And, it is really a gift if I’m giving it to further my own gain? She is so trusting, and I am using her._

“I do not know too very much about it, da’len, but I can tell you that, you’ll not just know it when you see it, but when you’ve _felt_ it.”

He had lied, but he had followed it with a truth. He tried to make himself feel better, telling himself it evened out. But he knew she deserved better.

 

“The sun will be up soon, da’len. You had best get to the front. Lead your people.”

She gave him a bitter-sweet smile, mounted her Da’assan, and galloped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halevune: MoonFox  
> Lethal'lan: Very close and dear friend, Clan mate, Blood kin,  
> Da'len: Little One, Child  
> Felasil'en: Fools, Idiots  
> Da'assan: Little Arrow
> 
> I really do love that horse.  
> And I cringe at that sing-a-long bit _every. single._ playthrough.  
>  I truly could not survive the embarrassment  
> the Inquisitor goes through in that cutscene. 
> 
> Thank you for your kudos, comments, and critiques! <3 Muah!!


	16. Sha'derudh (or: Are We There Yet?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some nice, old-fashioned  
> angst and fluff en route to Skyhold.
> 
> Thank you for being little angels <3 Muah!

She and the rest of her usual companions were used to climbing, but she couldn’t say the same for her advisors. They stayed on their mounts for as long as possible, but she eventually had to tie her horse to Cullen’s, and climb, so where she could see path through the mountains. She left alone, climbing for half an hour before stopping to sip from her waterskin. She sat on an overhang, dangling her feet, watching the Haven evacuees and her friends below, slowly making their way through a pass.

            “Lanaimem she, dal’en?”

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to see Solas step around a bend.

            “No, Hahren. Just thirsty.”

He leaned against his staff, watching her, but she pointedly would not make eye contact with him. She slowly lifted herself back up, tossing her skin back into her rucksack, before beginning to climb again. She heard him behind her, and sneaking a look down, she noticed how easy he made it look, embarrassed that her forearms burned. It occurred to her how often on their travels he had moved slowly, taken his time. He had been _pretending._ That annoyed her, somehow.  
She was reaching the top finally, and Solas had been _polite_ enough to not pass her. With a little more effort, she finally reached the peak. She huffed and sat down, and Solas sat beside her—with irritatingly little effort. She had been trying to ignore him, but the sun was low in the sky, and she could see the procession of her friends into the safe valley below.

            “Lovely, isn’t it?”  
  
            “Ir'ina'lan'ehn, vin.”  
  
She knew he was flirting with her, but she was too unsettled with him, lately. They had been walking for two days, and, while she walked and climbed and rode Da’assan, his presence beside her was fleeting—only remaining close by when he wouldn’t appear to be guiding her.

_Why is he playing into the whole Divine Intervention game? Wouldn’t it suit Our People just as well if_ he _took credit for guiding us to…wherever he’s guiding us? …Unless it’s a trap?_

 

            “Something the matter, da’len?”  
She turned to look at him, and she hated for how much honesty he showed his eyes, but it was what he hid in plain sight that truly hurt her.

            “Dinlathelanathe?”

            “Pardon me?”

He had the grace to look genuinely confounded.

“Whatever your machinations are, it isn’t for my benefit. There’s something else to you.”

He looked at her cold and hard for a long moment, and she felt a sudden chill.

            “What are you referring to?”

“Not taking any credit for guiding us. Letting the people of the Inquisition believe I’m truly directed by some higher power. And, that’s supposing you’re not leading us to our death.”  
“Ah.”

He looked down at the people below, milling about as they set up camp like so many ants. There was the faintest impression of sorrow in his eyes.

 

“Da’len, you give all of Thedas hope for a future guided by wisdom and amity. _You_ , sa or El’vhen, are capable of making a true difference. And I have nothing to contribute but our goal: el ha'lam….So, allow me to give you this gift.”

 

She glanced at him now, but he was already looking at her intently. Something still didn’t feel right about it, but he was beautiful, and she still had nowhere to shelter these people. She gazed back down at them.

_My people,_ she realized.

 

She stood up, and began to head back down from the crest, relieved it was much less steep on the descent. Solas followed without speaking, but just before they reached the camp, he reached out and touched her elbow.

When she turned, she found he was, once again, closer to her than she expected. He held a question in his eyes, but they flicked down to her lips, and when his gaze returned to her own, his eyes held something more commanding, feral. They stood for a long moment, before he finally spoke.  
           

            “You are aware of Cole’s, ah, nature?”

            “That he is a Spirit? Yes, Hahren.”

 

He looked at her, surprised. Like she was some naïve thing, oblivious to the shimmers and folds in the Fade whenever Cole materialized or disappeared.

 

            “But he is not possessing a body, as you know. He merely…has one.”  
  
She tilted her head, and that hungry look reappeared in his eyes.  
            “How did you teach yourself so much of Spirits and the Fade?“  
  
He smirked at her now, his stance somehow both poised and relaxed.

“You train your will to control magic. Your indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit. I do, as well.”

 

She found herself authentically caught off guard.

“Indomitable focus?”

He leaned forward, ever-so-slightly, and his voice came out as a velvet purr.

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be…” He paused, studying her, ” _fascinating._ ”

 

“Hm,” the only noise she could manage.  
  
She felt her face warm with color as she looked down, but then glanced back up through her lashes and flashed him a fiendish smile, strolling away from him languidly, back to the camp.  
  
She swayed her hips superfluously with each step and—hearing a faint growl from him—her body lit with the thrill of her racing heart.

* * *

 

He had left her alone for the rest of the night. Watching her laughing with Varric, curling up against Dorian and nodding off, before Bull tucked her in to her cot. Solas knew they were almost there, Tarasyl'an Te'las. He could feel the magic in the air, the press of the Fade against the Veil. They could’ve made it by nightfall, if so many weren’t in need of escort. She would have never agreed to leave them straggling behind in the snow. Her people.

And he wanted to see her face when she saw it in the clear light of day. He loved watching her in awe of new, beautiful experiences. The way her dusky lilac eyes sparked, and her face glowed. He never quite got tired of her expressions, the way she held her limbs, the way she would absently lift her hair onto her head before dropping it again, or unconsciously run her fingers over the scars on her neck….

He knew better, but he allowed his thoughts to wander her as he slipped into his dreams.

 

_She was in a library he did not recognize, but it smelled like all libraries do, though the air carried a hint of her: rosewater- and wood smoke. She was in one of her night-shirts—the finest cream pellicule like air on her moonskin, and barefoot, as though she had just crept from her bed. There were no candles, but the moon shone brightly through windows that lined one wall. She was lightly trailing her delicate fingers over the spines of the books, her anchor illuminating them briefly as she brushed them.  
He had come up behind her silently, but she knew he was there. She glanced over her shoulder at him briefly, her eyes half-lidded, before continuing her gentle, meandering touch across the tomes. He growled lowly, stepping into her, pressing her gently into the shelves. His fingers dug into her hips and her pelvis rolled against his. He slid his hands down the front of her legs before sliding them back up again, pushing up the thin fabric of her shirt to feel the bare flesh of her thighs, soft and supple. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he pressed his face to her neck, tracing her jawline gradually to her ear with his nose.  
            “Solas,” she whimpered….  
  
_ He woke himself then. That had not had been his own dream, he was almost sure of it. And luckily, nothing _too_ torrid had occurred. Nothing he couldn’t pretend he was ignorant of.  
  
            _She has affected me too much. Sha'derudh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lanaimem she: Defeated so quickly?  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Ir'ina'lan'ehn, vin: Very beautiful, yes.  
> Dinlathelanathe: Am I sociopathic? Am I unfeeling?  
> Sa or El’vhen: One of Our People  
> El ha'lam: Our destination, Our end, Our beginning  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Tarasyl'an Te'las: Place Where the Sky is Kept  
> Sha'derudh: Flirt (n.)
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen  
>  _and all of you angelbabies._


	17. Held Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana spends all day with patient and sweet Commander Cullen,  
> so when she can't sleep and seeks out Solas,  
> she's not in the mood for his shit.
> 
> I was feeling a little angsty about him after some gameplay today,  
> and I didn't want to jump straight into Fade Haven (cause, you know,)  
> so I wrote this instead. Forgive me.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> Also, I am sure I will regret this, but I added a sketch of Eliana.  
> Yes, she does look like a child. That has been kinda a running theme.  
> And I am sorry, I'm a professional illustrator,  
> but I only ever do cartoons for children's books....  
> So, that's why I am terrible at both drawing and writing.  
> I'M SORRY, OKAY?!?!

She had barely had time to sleep in the three days they had been here.

 

_Skyhold_ , Solas had breathed beside her when she first laid eyes on it. It wasn't just a castle, it was a fortress; precariously placed atop a mountain, flanked on three sides by sheer cliff-faces. And she could feel the Fade here, so close. Like it was pressing into the Veil to stroke her cheek, like a hand through a sheet.

 

After her Ordination as Inquisitor— _such a threatening title_ —she had been promptly whisked off to their new War Room. She must have spent at least 16 hours skimming over the constant influx of reports, communiqués on every imaginable subject: from the foundations and repairs their new home needed, to missives of support and denouncement (from Nobles and Royalty she had never heard of), to any information Leliana's people had been able to gather on the Venatori or Corypheus. That night, Eliana had fallen asleep on the War table.

The next morning, she was immediately ushered off to fittings for clothes "Worthy of the leader of the Inquisition", as Josie proclaimed. Then the Commander came to her with a hand full of mission, aid, and requisition requests. He sat with her for hours as she poured over them.  
  
Eliana insisted on having multiple piles: three for delegation (one for each of her advisors), one for ridiculous and unnecessary requests or issues, and several others based on urgency and what she thought held importance. She talked each one over with Cullen before deciding on a pile --Leliana occasionally chiming in whenever she would ghost through-- and learned that the Commander was funny and thoughtful, as well as sweet.  
  
Dorian finally burst in, to Cullen's annoyance, insisting that she eat something. He sat and chatted with her awhile, telling her what everyone had been doing, any fun or fantastic rumors, how she needed a good bath and hair-combing....

The Commander seemed visibly relieved when her "Tevene Peach" left. 

"So," he started, but coughed, clearing his throat before continuing. "So is Dorian-- are you and he--?"

She couldn't help but laugh, as Dorian was so obviously disinterested in women, but if the Commander couldn't tell, she wouldn't be the one to out him. 

"Creators, no! Dorian is like my best friend and big brother in one."

"Do you not have any siblings?" He asked politely, merely curious.

  
"One younger brother, Galifalon." She smiled, though a little sadly.  
"He'll be having his bonding ceremony soon."

  
*Is that like a marriage ceremony?" 

  
"It's  _exactly_  like a marriage ceremony," She laughed, and he flushed, looking embarrassed.

 

"Oh, Cullen, forgive me. I didn't mean to be unkind. Da'lav'hasal is not truly  _just like_  a marriage ceremony, but saota is the same concept.”

 

She watched as he silently tried to mouth the words, brows furrowed, unable to get his tongue around the syllables.

“I just haven't spoken much to anyone about anything regarding my Home or People since I left."

  
"No, no, forgive me. I just know so little about your culture. The only Elves I've been around were mostly Circle Mages. Why don't you speak more about yourself to anyone? I'm sure Solas—“  
  
"Solas cares little for Dalish culture, though I suspect he cares more for the actual people as a whole than he would lead one to believe. And my history... it's a bit of a touchy subject.”

“Nothing  _too_  criminal," she added with a joking smile at his raised brow, "mostly just a lot of misfortune and loss I'd care not to remember."  
  
"Oh...my apologies. I didn't mean to pry." She waved her hand dismissively and smiled again.  
  
"Asking why I don't talk about myself is the _least_ prying anyone has done, Cullen. And you've been very patient and sweet, helping figure out this...paperwork nonsense. I really don’t believe I will ever understand it all." He smiled at that before looking around concerned. 

  
"I'd hardly realized how long we've been here. It's late, and you should rest. Varric's mysterious visitor will be here any day, and soon you'll be dragged back out, gallivanting all over Thedas again."

  
"Ugh," she stood and stretched, "I swear, I haven't stopped moving for months. Though, I do miss Da'assan. There's not much room to ride her here. Thank you, again, for saving her. You can't know what comfort she brings me. I owe you, Commander." He laughed gently.

"I think after Haven, we all are still in debt to  _you,_ Inquisitor."

 

She chuckled softly and he rose too, stretching much more subtly than she had.

"Ah, hearing  _that_  is going to take some getting used to. Everyone has so much faith in my leadership… I just hope I'm ready." She pursed her lips at the thought.

  
"You won't have to carry the Inquisition alone, though it must feel like it. We needed a leader; you proved yourself." He leaned back now, casually placing his hands on the hilt of his sword, the same way Solas reflexively stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

  
"Thank you, Cullen. Escaping Haven….It was close. And, I'm relieved that you— _t-_ that so many made it out."

  
"As am I." He smiled a moment before it slipped away.

 

They both looked away, thinking of those she  _hadn't_  been able to save. She blamed herself.... _He must, too; if not for her, none of this would happen in the first place._ She began to walk to the door, when she felt him grab her wrist, gently.

  
"You stayed behind...you could have--"

She looked up at his warm, honey eyes and plaintive expression, and felt a tightening in her chest. His next words came out as a whispered invocation.

"I will not let the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."   
He released her and as she turned away, a knock came at the door.

"Inquisitor?" Josephine popped her head in, looking suspiciously nonchalant.

"Josie, I was just coming to see you."

 

She watched the Antivan beauty blossom into a wide smile, her eyes flicking conspiratorially to Cullen before attempting to re-compose herself.

"Perfect! I -- _we-_ \- have a surprise for you!"

She grabbed Eliana's hand and began to pull her through the door, as the elf looked back at Cullen questioningly, only to see him give her a knowing grin before she was yanked from sight.  
  
The ambassador pulled her through the main hall, past the empty dais, to a door that Eliana had previously assumed was a storage closet of some sort. She was led up a flight of stairs surrounding what appeared to be an opening to the hall to the War Room, below. Through another, heavier door, and up another, markedly scoured flight of stone steps....

  
"Now, it isn't entirely complete, but Leliana agrees that it is acceptable enough to sleep in, for now."

Eliana was speechless by the opulence that surrounded her. Vaulted ceilings came to a point twenty feet above her head. The floor was polished marble, overlaid with a plush, red carpet that met in a cross in the center of the floor, and each corner was carpeted in a deep green. Three walls were adorned with giant stained-glass windows in a distinctly Elvhen style, the crowning arches depicted ivy and leaves of the most lovely peridot as the moonlight shone through. Three of these windows opened as Orlesian-style salon doors onto two separate marble balconies.

To the right of the landing and between two doors was an immense stone fireplace, already crackling with flames to fight the chill of the open panes. Atop the mantle were dozens of candles on either side of a golden chest decorated with halla and wolves in detailed relief. An Elvhen owl ( _Falon'Din?_ ), carved from ancient stone, perched on the arch of the adjacent balcony door, wings spread wide.

In the corner, between the two terrace doorways, were several high bookshelves, filled with endless tomes, preceded by a gorgeous desk carved from what she thought  _might_  be Heartwood. To her right was a small settee and side table pushed against the marble balustrade, and a small storage room.

Then there was the bed....Orlesian, certainly, and much too large for her, and the luxury of the bedding was visible even from where she stood. There appeared to be a promenade above the bed, and a large fresco of mountains, Skyhold, and the Visus symbol of the Inquisition --The Watchful Eye speared by The Blade of Mercy-- painted ( _rather poorly,_  she thought, guiltily) high on the wall.

“…But the merchant who was meant to deliver it was most disagreeable, so hopefully we will be able to finish it up soon.” She became suddenly aware that she had not heard a single thing Josephine had said.  
  
“This is lovely, Josie! Is this your room?”  
  
She was still gaping at everything around her when she noticed the halfway-amused scowl Josephine was giving her.  
  
“Have you not heard a thing I said? These are _your_ chambers, Inquisitor.”  
  
“What? Oh, no, Josie, it’s very sweet, but I can’t possibly—“

  
“Do you not like it? We tried to make it as comfortable as possible….”  
  
“No, I love it! How did you get those windows in here? But, no, there’s just too much room for only me.”  
  
“The windows and most of the carvings and decorations were here already. Fitting that our Inquisitor is Elvish, no? But, truly, your surroundings must reflect your title, and your honored guests would expect to see that.”  
  
Josephine smiled as Eliana continued to look around in awe.  
  
“Get some sleep, Inquisitor. We have a meeting in the War Room first thing,” she advised with a brief hug before slipping back down the stairs, leaving Eliana to wander the room in disbelief.

 

She saw a small, folded note, unsealed but tied with ribbon, left on the desk. She gently slid the ribbon off, finding a letter carefully written with a steady hand:

 

 

>             _Inquisitor,_
> 
> _Your archivists have asked me how I came to know the name and location of Skyhold. To the latter, I may speak easily: when one walks in the Fade, any fortress that has seen enough battle shines as a beacon for spirits drawn to death and struggle, even after centuries of disuse._
> 
> _As to the former, I myself cannot say for certain. The whispers of old memories carry a thousand such names upon their breath, and it is possible that this name belonged to some other keep in some other land. Still, it seems an auspicious name, for there is one peculiarity of language that your scholars seem to have missed. When the words reached my dreaming mind, Skyhold was not simply a fortress near the sky, nor was it some simplistic allusion to holding up the sky. Skyhold—Tarasyl'an te'las—was "the place where the sky was held back." Given your efforts against the Breach and our battle against a madman who seeks to assault the Black City in the Fade, I can only hope that the Inquisition's new stronghold lives up to its name._

_—Solas_

 

* * *

 

 

He hadn’t seen her since they had arrived. She had been rushed off by Josephine to change her clothes and comb her hair, and he knew what would come next. So he slipped away, disinterested to witness the humans foist a title upon her that she desired not.

 

She had not been to dinner for two nights now; though he had witnessed Dorian bring her a tray to the War Room tonight, where she had been with the Commander for hours now. When the Mage emerged, he had made pointed eye-contact with Solas, smirking meaningfully. Solas had kept his face passive and disinterested, pretending to still pick at his meal before returning to the Rotunda.

 

He had made this place his own, allowing him solitude while still serving his growing desire to feel close to other living beings. Even though he rarely received a word from anyone but the occasional passing elf—or Varric—people continuously swept through the room on their way to somewhere else. Hidden in plain view, as it were.  
  
He was aware of how late it was, and he had been up on his scaffold for some hours now, hearing the halls grow slowly silent; so he thought little of the creak of the door to the Main Hall, expecting to hear some servant or other finally shuffling off to bed. But when, after several moments he heard nothing, he turned to see Eliana sitting on the divan behind him, her bare feet tucked under her.

 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted her by her new title, seeing her flinch as she had when first called “Herald”.

 

“Hahren.” She replied, merely watching him as he turned back to his outline.  
  
“It is late, Inquisitor. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”  
  
“Have you seen my quarters?” She asked, and he turned, brow furrowed in concern of what she was about to say.  
  
“They’re too much. To big. And so high up.” She was _whining_.  
  
He chuckled now, climbing down and walking over to her.  
  
“I was unaware you are afraid of heights, da’len. You’ve certainly never shown any aversion to them before.” He cocked an eyebrow.  
  
“It’s not the height, it’s the distance from everyone else. I feel like some cursed storybook tarlan, locked away in a tower.” She had made herself smaller, somehow; tucking all her limbs into herself, her hair clean and combed out, tumbling in waves around her like a veil. She wore the clothes Josephine had provided for her: silvery leggings, and a matching high-necked blouse that buttoned down the front and at her wrists. They were much more fitted to her than anything he had seen her in before, and distractingly flattering.  
  
“Are you not a tarlan, Inquisitor? All of your devoted subjects keeping you safely above them?”  
  
He was teasing her, but he could see she felt it more mocking as she sneered at him.

 

“Do not call me Inquisitor, Solas. Not when it’s just us. Tel'ea elvar'nas.”

 

She rose fluidly.  
  
“My apologies for disturbing you, Hahren. On’era,” she spoke quietly over her shoulder as she walked towards the door, her steps completely mute on the stone.  
  
“You have not disturbed me, Da’len. Your presence is always welcome.”  
  
She paused a moment, considering something. But then she merely nodded, half-turning her shoulders back to him, before leaving as silently as she had appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'lav'hasal: handfasting, an elvhen marriage rite  
> Saota: marriage, bond  
> Falon'Din: Elvhen god of death and fortune, guides dead to the Beyond  
> Tarlan: Princess, Noble lady  
> Tel'ea elvar'nas: Do not be cruel  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> On’era: Sleep well, lit. Good sleep  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> ~~~~  
> [Visus](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Constellation:_Visus): Star constellation, original symbol for the [Lady of the Skies](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Avvar#Lady_of_the_Skies)
> 
> You are all my darling little raindrops of inspiration, and I love you.  
> Muah! xoxoxoxo


	18. Dare (or: Fade-Haven Tongue Karate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE IS IS, GUYS!!!  
> ARE YOU READY?!
> 
>  
> 
> I haven't tried to write anything descriptive of  
> anything physically passionate/sexual in, like, 7 years,  
> so go easy on me, okay?
> 
> Thankyousomuchforreading<3xoxoxo
> 
> (Can you tell I'm nervous?)

She had spent all morning in the War Room, and after a too-brief lunch with Dorian, she received a note from Varric to meet him on the Battlements.  
_  
P.S. Do not bring Cassandra!_ ”

It was a small relief to get outside, she cut through the Rotunda and Cullen's office to avoid Vivienne and Cassandra. It was a longer walk, but she needed the air. It was so clean and beautiful here, with snow capped mountains, as far as one could see in every direction. She marveled at the old, empty towers; overgrown with ivy and holes in the wood ceilings letting speckled sunlight in to dance on the stone. Finally she reached the flat overhang near the gardens, seeing a dark-haired Mage, the sun glinting off his armor like a beacon. Varric saw her and grinned, still looking grim, and hopped down from the barrel he had been sitting on.   
  
"Inquisitor Foxlette! May I present The Champion of Kirkwall."  
  
"Please don't call me that, though. Hawke." He smiled, looking nervous, and held out his hand.  
  
"Only if you refrain from calling me _Inquisitor._  Or Foxlette," she shot a look at Varric, "I'm Eliana." She shook his hand.   
  
"I'm surprised. Varric said you were an elf, but you're _Dalish_. You must be very..."  
  
"Charming?" She joked, noting his concern seemed to be more _for_  her than because of her.  
  
"Well, I was going to say 'Unsettled', but I like 'charming' better." He laughed.  
He was handsome in the rugged, outlaw-ish kind of way only Elves never manage to pull off.

_Probably the whole inability-to-grow-facial-hair thing._

Varric handed her a bottle of ale, and the three each found somewhere to sit. Hawke and Varric told her about killing Corypheus, the disappearance of the Grey Wardens, and a friend of Hawke's who might be able to help, if they could reach him.

"I don't envy you the burden you carry, Eliana. But if I can help make right what I failed to do before...I owe Thedas that, at least."

They had been out here all afternoon, and the sun was beginning to set. Eliana looked out over the mountains, now purple and gold in the orange light, and sighed.

"Thank you, Hawke. And you, Varric. It's nearly dinner....Have you found somewhere to hide, if Varric brings you some food? I know Cassandra would have some words for you if you joined us in the hall." She grinned.

"Nah, I'm actually just going to slip out while everyone eats. I have a camp set up outside the walls, and Leliana's people already know I'm here and haven't said anything yet. I leave in the morning for Crestwood. I'd appreciate a day's head start, by the way." It was his turn to grin now; being a fugitive from Cassandra suited him.

"You've got two. We'll see you there. And, be safe." She gave him a mock curtsey and headed down the stairs into the Gardens. Before she reached the entrance to the Hall, the door swung open with a surprising amount of force.

"Eliana, my little fawn, where _have_  you been?" She was relieved to see Dorian's charming smile and she skipped over to take him by the hand.

"Avoiding my advisors, _of course_! They keep wanting to make me do paperwork." She giggled at Dorian's appalled gasp.

"But cruel and unusual torture was outlawed in Ferelden and Orlais _years_  ago! What is this, the Imperium?" They strode together hand-in-hand into the Hall, and he pulled her over to the head of the table he usually sat at.

"I've found her! The poor dear had been hiding to avoid more paperwork." He lifted her hand triumphantly, before pulling out the chair for her. She sat at the head, and Dorian sat at her left, Bull on his other side. Sera and then Blackwell sat at her right, and Solas sat at the opposite end, facing her.

_Just grand. Thanks, Dorian._

Solas had yet to look up at her, though. He was taking his time buttering a roll.

"So, Eliana, darling. Have you seen the Rotunda today? Solas began a fresco. It is quite striking." Dorian fluttered his lashes at her innocently. She pursed her lips.

"I passed through after lunch, but I must admit I wasn't paying attention." She began to pick at her food, avoiding the venison that always seemed to be the meat provided.

"Oi, Ladybits, I love a good break as much a' tha nex' girl, bu' when are we gonna _do_  somefin'?"

"Well, if you can keep a secret, we leave for Crestwood in two days. But I haven't told Josie, Leliana, Cass, or Cullen yet, so..."

"Gotcha! Swear on ma bees, I'm itchin' to shoot someone." Sera was inhaling her food while she spoke.

"Are there dragons in Crestwood, Boss?" Bull looked adorably hopeful for an axe-wielding, horned giant.

"I don' think so. At least, I haven't heard 'bout any ever bein' there." Blackwall looked almost as disappointed as Bull as he said this.

"I heard iz always rainin' an' muddy," Sera chimed in, nonplussed, as she proceed to take a long chug from her flagon.

" _Lovely._ " Dorian sarcasm dripped with displeasure.

Eliana got to enjoy the rest of her meal listening to her companions fuss and joke, and she realized she hadn't laughed so much since...well.

_Since Mamae died._

Solas, who had remained silent throughout dinner, rose and thanked the servant who had moved to clear his place, before bowing to the rest of the table ( _rather sarcastically,_  Eliana thought) and heading back to his Rotunda.

"Cranky ol' fuddy-duddy," Sera mumbled as he left.

"Oh, come on, Sera. He's not so bad," Eliana chided, and after all of the knowing looks she received, whished she hadn't.

"Are ya kiddin' me? He's _ancient_ , Ladybits. Like, _so old,_ " Sera said, emphatically.

"All I'm sayin' is, don't play Diamondback with Solas. You've been warned. Taugh' him the game las' night, he turned aroun' and beat me! Lost everythin'! Had to walk back to my quarters with only a bucket for my bits." Blackwall said with all seriousness, to the laughter of the rest.

"Well, I'm going to go see what I can do to annoy him," Eliana said as she got up, and Dorian patted her hand and winked at her, before sharing a look with Bull.

She thanked the servant she passed who would be clearing her plates away ( _At least Solas is a good example for manners. Maybe Sera will learn something_ ), and, giggling at the ridiculousness of her thought, slipped into the Rotunda.

When she saw the fresco, she stopped in her tracks.  
_How did I miss this before?_

It was beautiful. Unique in style, though somehow undeniably Elvish. What had been painted so far was mostly in red, black, grey, and gold. It had a geometric quality that was still indescribably organic. Her eyes were most drawn to the wolves, howling up and away from the Inquisition Visus.

"I take it you're _not_  responsible for the one above my bed," she said. She heard Solas walk up behind her, standing close enough that she could feel his body heat, but she didn't turn around.

"There's a fresco above your bed?" She heard the amusement in his voice. She turned to him then, standing chest-to-chest, and looked up into his ever half-lidded grey eyes.

"If you can even call it that," she scoffed. He smirked and turned away, walking over to his desk; leaning against it, crossing his arms, with a rarely-seen ease that made Eliana's heartbeat take off.

"To what do I owe the honor, da'len." He stated rather than asked, which she found inexplicably attractive.

She walked over to the divan with the usual exaggerated swagger she reserved for the Apostate, and slid onto it. She reclined on her side, propping her head up on her hand and allowing her elbow on the divan's arm to exaggerate the curve of her body. She fought the satisfied smirk threatening to give her away as he slowly ran his gaze over her form.

"Well, with all the fanfare, I had to see your art for myself. I might have to have you cover over the one in my quarters."

Even with the smirk on his lips and his cocked eyebrow, his face gave away nothing of his thoughts.

"And now you've seen it," was all he said. It wasn't dismissive, but it was pointed.

 _"Is that all you wanted, da'len?"_  
She could almost hear his voice in her head.

"I was also hoping to hear more of your journeys in the Fade." It wasn't entirely a lie, but she mostly just wanted his continued attention.

He walked over to her and held out his hand, helping her to her feet when she gave him her own hand.

"I would be happy to share them. But, humor me, and let us go somewhere more interesting."

She felt her heart race as he led her through the now-empty hall, down the front staircase, and out of the main gate. They walked for a while in silence, but she was only focused on the feeling of her hand in his, how large his hand was around hers, the long and elegant form of his fingers... But he suddenly released her hand and strode forward.

She looked up, the glow of green from the Breach reflecting off the stone of the Chantry. They were in Haven.

“You want to talk _here_?”

“Haven is familiar. It will always be important to you.”

He spoke over his shoulder, walking into the building, hands clasped behind him and back straight. She followed him down into the prison, shuddering slightly at the sight of the cells.

“I sat beside you while you slept, studying the anchor.” She looked up at him, but he gazed ahead, as if watching something she couldn't see.

"That must have been...exciting," she spoke bitterly, but hoped she was masking it with her light sarcasm. He chuckled lightly.

"You were a mystery.” He looked down at her now, brow slightly furrowed, but a small smile at the corner of his lips.   
“You still are.” 

"I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, but for naught. Cassandra suspected duplicity. Without answers, my life was about to be cut short.”

"Oh, don't take that personally. That's how Cassandra makes all her friends.”

He smiled, looking back up once more before turning to the exit.

“Come."

She followed him up from the cells—with no small feeling of relief—and back outside to the snow, listening to him talk all the while.

“You were never going to wake up. How could you? A mortal sent physically through the fade…” He turned to her then, gesturing to her small frame.

"I was frustrated. Frightened. The spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the breach. I wished to help, but I had no faith in Cassandra or she in me. I was ready to flee.”

“Where, exactly? The Breach threatened the whole world," she smiled wryly, earning a chuckle from Solas.

"Somewhere far away where I might research a way to repair the Breach before it’s effects reached me.” He glanced down at her incredulous look, and smiled.  
"I never said it was a good plan.”

He turned to the Breach now, reaching out to the sky if he could hold the tear closed with his hand.

“I told myself, ‘one more attempt to seal the rifts.’ I tried…and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow, resigned myself to flee."

He turned back to her.

"And then….” He was looking in her eyes with such intensity, she felt a knot form tightly in her stomach and the breath sucked from her lungs.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation. You had sealed it with a mere gesture. And right then…I felt the whole world  _change._ ”

She found herself taking a step towards him, though she hadn't meant to.

“Felt the whole world change?” She breathed.

"A figure of speech” He said, almost shyly, but didn't look away.

“I am aware of the metaphor. I am more interested in ‘ _felt_ ’…”

She had taken another step towards him, and now she was close enough to feel his breath, warm and sweet on her face.

“You change… _everything_.” It came out somewhere between a purr and a whisper.

“Flatterer," she whispered back, and he dropped his eyes from hers, beginning to turn away.

She seemed unable to stop herself, reaching forward and pressing her fingertips into his jaw, leading his face back to her own. She could feel his half-hearted attempt at resistance, and she reached up to grab the back of his neck, pulling him more forcibly now, before pressing her lips to his.

He merely stood there, unmoving, unresponsive, and she became suddenly overwhelmed with the awareness of what she had just done...and his rejection. She pulled away, immediately beginning to run from him, face red and fighting tears of humiliation...  
  
But he grabbed her waist, holding her still— _just_  long enough to see him grinning wolfishly, shaking his head in a " _Now you've done it"_ look—before she was pulled tightly against him, his mouth forcefully on hers.

  
He kissed her with such  _hunger_ , she felt the familiar stirring at her core, sending tingles from her lips, down her spine, and to the center of her hips. He had pulled her into him so that she could feel the heat of his body pressed against the length of her. His hands were tangled in her hair, pain and pleasure drawing a moan from her and giving him his chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. He seemed to growl as he tasted her, and expertly flicked his tongue against the tip of her own. The  _need_  she felt was causing her body to quiver. She teasingly raked her teeth over it as he explored her mouth, and she realized he was all that was holding her up as he leaned into her; the fingers she had admired before now slid down her body, digging into her hips, hard.

Abruptly he was pulling away, and she realized that she hadn't been breathing, and that his arms were still around her. Moaning a gulp of air, she watched as he shook his head at her again and leaned back into her. This kiss was much more gentle, though she could feel his restraint. She began to press into him, to deepen the kiss, but he stopped her, releasing her entirely now, and stepping away.

“We shouldn’t, it isn’t right. Not even here.”

She struggled to compose herself, but then his words sunk in.  
“‘Even here’? Wha—“

“Where did you think we were?"  
He smiled now, amused.

“This... isn’t real."

He chuckled and took a step towards her.

“That’s a matter of debate. Best discussed after you…" he leaned in and breathed, " ** _wake up_**.”

 

* * *

 

He had expected her to come bursting into the Rotunda immediately, but she hadn’t. Once he had rose off the divan and stood around a bit, he realized she might be angry with him. He was furious with himself for feeling disappointed.

 

He climbed his scaffold, outlined a new section of his mural, spread the plaster, and began to paint. He painted right through lunch, and when Dorian passed through, asking if he was coming to dinner, he declined that, too. It was the only way he could deal with his thoughts, to chastise himself for behaving so foolishly, to steel himself against any further weakness in the future. Dorian passed back through again silently at the end of dinner, and he could hear the rest of the castle settle slightly. He had made up his mind, when he heard a quiet, “Hm.”

 

There she was, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed casually, one foot en point behind the other—and all of the memories of her came flooding back.

 

_The taste of her mouth, the press of her body, the sound of her moan when he had pulled her hair roughly…_

 

He maintained his composure though, turning back to apply his finally few brush-strokes.  
  
“Sleep well?” He allowed a little amusement in his voice, still taking his time putting away his paints and brushes before climbing down the scaffolding.  
  
“I’ve certainly slept worse,” she said, but her face was a polite mask.  
  
He leaned against the scaffolding, mirroring her own pose.  
  
“I apologize; the kiss was impulsive and ill-considered. I should not have encouraged it.”  
  
She strode towards him now, stopping short at his desk. She lifted herself slightly to perch on the end, one hand behind her on a pile of his paperwork. She was almost sneering.  
  
“ _Encouraged_? Hmm,” She looked at her fingernails, her voice heavy with disinterest, “That’s certainly one way to phrase it.”  
  
She looked up at him again, her eyes full of irritated disappointment.  
  
“I…Forgive me. It has been a long time, and things have always been, ah, easier for me in the Fade.”  
  
“So, you were, what, toying with me?” Her voice was flat, un-accusing, unemotional…but her eyes showed hurt.  
  
He strode towards her now, angered by the accusation. Before he had full awareness of what he was doing, he found himself leaning over her, hands on the desk at either side of her, trapping her in. She stared back at him with a brave calm, her gaze studying his face briefly, before locking eyes with him again from under her lashes.

“ _Thu gya’ma_ ,” his voice low and dangerous.

“ _Din_ , thu gya’ _ma_ , Solas,” she hissed back with venom.  
  
Her eyes were narrowed and she was baring her teeth. He could feel her breath on his face.

“Ane y tel em isala. Do not play games with me.”

 

He sighed and closed his eyes, pulling back slightly, though his hands remained on the desk at her sides. When he opened them, her face was calm again, though her eyes were pointedly emotionless, prepared for rejection.

“I am not certain it is the best idea. It could lead to…trouble.” He stood again fully, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.  
  
“And I am, perhaps, not worth the trouble.” She slid off his desk and nodded once in understanding.  
  
As she moved to walk away, he caught her wrist, stopping her.  
  
“I—yes. You are. But there are…considerations. If I could have a little time to think.”  
  
**What _did I just say?_**

“Lasem melana ma nuven, Hahren.” She looked up at him and he released her. 

“Ma serannas, da’len.” She bowed to him slightly, without guile.  
  
  
As she climbed the stairs to the library, he leaned against his desk again.  
             
            _Ame ir felasil'ne…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mamae: Mother  
> Thu gya’ma: How dare you?  
> Din: No  
> Ane y tel em isala: You either do or do not desire me.  
> Lasem melana ma nuven: I grant what time you wish, Take the time you wish.  
> Hahren: Elder, teacher.  
> Ma serannas: My thanks, Thank you.  
> Da’len: Little one, Child  
> Ame ir felasil'ne: I am so very foolish
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> s/o to Project Elvhen  
> As well as:  
> A_Dubious_Dream  
> julia+snyder  
> & Aislin  
> for being especially amazing <3


	19. Little Birdies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little warm-and-cuddly  
> "Family Building Time",  
> with just a dash of intrigue.
> 
> I'm being terribly bad at writing today; I don't feel terribly well today.  
> I'm sorry, though :(
> 
> Thank you for reading <3 Muah!!

Eliana barely reached the top of the stairs when she saw Dorian leaning oh-so-casually against a bookshelf with a single raised eyebrow.  
  
"Couldn't hear much from up here, but you two put on quite a show. Luckily for you, I don't even think our little spies realized you two were down there."  
  
At that, Eliana glanced up towards the railing of the Rookery above, looking for any of Nightingale's Little Birdies, before walking over and plopping down into Dorian's usual wingback chair, rubbing her face.  
  
"So, are you going to spill the beans or not?" Dorian jokingly twisted the end of his moustache evilly.  
  
"Ugh, he says he needs  _time to consider_  things. He's the most frustrating person  
I've ever met--including Vivienne  _and_  Sera."  
  
"He does seem a little hot-and-cold." The beautiful man in front of her looked pensive.

 

_It's a lot more than that. Our Nightingale's not the only one with Little Birdies...._  
  
She wouldn't say this to Dorian, though.  
She trusted her Tevinter Mage would keep her  _personal_  secrets through the worst torture, but if he thought she was in danger....

 

"Oh, my little pearl, hasn't Vivienne told you that too much worrying will give you wrinkles?" Dorian cooed, lifting her up and placing him on her lap.  
  
"He's just an old, bald Hedge-Mage, anyway. You could do better," he said, combing her hair back with his fingers and loosely braiding it.  
  
  
"There's more than that. I don't know what exactly it is, but I intend to find out."  
She realized her tone was a bit too serious, so she flashed him a sly grin.   
_  
_

_"_ Varric is right: you're a quick, determined little Foxlette.”  
  
  
“And you’re a handsome, villainous Magister,” She grinned evilly.  
  
“Actually, I’m an—“ “Altus, I know. But Magister _sounds_ more villainous.”  
  
“That’s true…Though, we’re not all as bad as the books say.”  
  
  
“No, you’re worse,” she teased, and he sweetly kissed her cheek. They sat in silence for a long moment, as their minds both seem to drift.  
  
“Is there not something about him that seems a bit _suspect_ to you, though, my Siren?”  
Dorian had suddenly lowered his voice, barely a whisper right next to her ear.  
  
“Undeniably, my Treasure. I have a feeling it’s unwise to have someone like him know your name.”  
  
They shared a serious look, before giggling madly and saying goodnight.  
  
Eliana passed back down the stairs and through the Rotunda again, seeing Solas laying on the divan with eyes closed, as if he were asleep. She didn’t pause, but continued through door to the Hall and up the stairs to her quarters.

She wasn't even sure what she thought about her Apostate yet—other than that he was magnetic, and beautiful, and not to be trusted.  
Oh, and that she wanted him, in the worst way.

_I definitely have a letter to write._  

 

 

 

The next morning Eliana awoke to her Ambassador gently tapping her arm.

“Inquisitor?”

“Yes, Josephine?”  
  
“How did you know it was me? You haven’t even opened your eyes yet!”  
  
“Firstly, you’re the only Antivan I know, so the accent is a dead-giveaway. Second, you are the only Antivan I know who smells like citrus and Crystal Grace.”  
  
Josephine just giggled and tugged at her arm until she sat up, excitedly gesturing to the settee.  
  
“What do you think?” she asked excitedly.

There were several versions of—what Josie had referred to as—“Casual wear” similar to the silver leggings and blouse she had already received, except these all the same taupe-colored leggings with a deep blue, a white, and a beige blouse. Eliana could see small, handwritten tags pinned to each.  
  
Next to them, there were two identical (much more appealing) ensembles of leather coats, leggings, and a scarf; each one was a different palette of brown. They came with gloves and boots, and also had tags pinned to them.

“They’re truly lovely, Josie. What do the tags say?”  
  
“Pah, they are just the names and descriptions the Seamstress gave them. They’re meant to be poetic, I believe, but they are honestly a bit garish,” she sneered slightly. “Anyway, you’d better go find Cassandra. She’s looking for Varric….”  
  
“Ugh. Okay, I’ll get dressed. Is everything ready for our departure tomorrow?”  
  
“Yes, we have everyone’s mounts groomed and shod, supplies packed, and scouts sent ahead to send back any word if there is trouble en route. All set. Though, Cullen seems a bit _less than eager_ for you to leave again…” The Ambassador giggled.  
  
“Josie?”  
  
“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Don’t.”  
  
The Antivan curtsied before giggling her way down the stairs, leaving Eliana to roll her eyes and allow herself a grin. She picked up the darkest of the leather outwears, reading the tag with a laugh: “ _Venture Forth -_ _For the Inquisitor who wishes to project a can-do, hands-on image: a simple, rugged number in rich browns.”_  
She slipped it on, anyway; quickly remembering she had a dwarf to save.

 

She all but ran through the Hall, much to the amusement and disapproval of whatever poor souls were standing about. Varric was absent from his usual post next to the fireplace abutting the door to the Rotunda, and as Eliana hurried down the stairs, two at a time, she could see that Cassandra was not at her usual corner of the upper Courtyard. Luckily, she did notice several smiths exiting the Armory, looking uncomfortable. As she approached, she could hear the yelling from inside. She sighed, and went in the side door, slipping up the stairs silently…. Only to witness Cassandra holding Varric off the floor and against the banister with her forearm.

 

“You knew where Hawke was all along!”  
She had heard Cassandra yell before, but this was more of a shriek, and was very unnerving.

“You’re damn right I did!” Varric yelled back, pulling her arm off of him with surprising strength, and landing nimbly on the floor; already dodging Cassandra’s swinging fist.  
  
“You conniving little shit!” She screamed at him, as he darted around her, putting a table between them.

“You _kidnapped_ me! You interrogated me! What did you expect?”  
  
They mirrored each other, each leaning forward slightly as they yelled, arms straight and fists balled at their sides.

“ _Enough!_ ” Eliana wasn’t about to let the Seeker kill Varric.

“You’re taking _his_ side?” Cassandra threw her hands up in vehemence.

“I said **_enough_**!”  
  
Eliana hadn’t raised her voice like that since the night Haven was attacked, and Varric’s eyes went wide as he moved to stand behind her.  
Cassandra never took her eyes off him, though, a sneer across her face.

“We needed someone to lead the Inquisition. First, Leliana and I searched for the Hero of Ferelden, but he had vanished. Then we looked for Hawke, but he was gone, too. We thought it was all connected, but no. It was just _you._ You kept him from us.”

  
“The Inquisition has a leader!” Varric gestured to Eliana, and she flinched.

“Hawke would have been at the Conclave! If anyone could have saved Most Holy….” Cassandra said, almost desperately, seeming to fight back tears.  
 

“Varric is not responsible for what happened at the Conclave, Cass,” Eliana said gently, though apparently Varric didn’t take the cue.

  
“I was _protecting_ my friend!” He stepped from behind her, pointing emphatically at Cassandra.

“Varric is a liar, Inquisitor. A snake,” Cassandra hissed, “Even after the Conclave when we needed Hawke most, Varric kept him secret.” 

“He’s with us now. We’re on the same side!”  
 

“We all know whose side _you are_ on, Varric. It will never be the Inquisition’s,” Cassandra said dismissively, though the hurt in her voice was evident.

 

“Attacking him now won’t help, Cass.” Eliana took a step forward, touching the Seeker’s arm.

  
“Exactly!” Varric, still not getting the hint, threw up his hands, only to have Eliana turn to him with a sharp look.  
  
“And **_you_** had better not be keeping anything else from us!”  
  
She felt like a hypocrite, but she knew she had to say _something_ to him, at least in the name of fairness.

 

“I understand…” Varric sighed, looking at the floor.

“I must not think of what could have been. We have too much at stake. Go, Varric.” Cassandra had walked to the lean with her elbows on the banister, facing away from them. “Just…go.”

  
“You know what I think? If Hawke had been at the Temple, he’d be dead, too. You people have done enough to him.” Varric had walked to the stairs, pausing at the top briefly. 

He left then, his footfall heavy on each step and the slam of the door rattling the whole armory.

 

“I _believed_ him. He spun his story, and I swallowed it. If I had just made him understand, made him see what was at stake…. “ Cassandra seemed to be talking mostly to herself, until she turned to Eliana, “But I didn’t. I didn’t explain why we needed Hawke.”

 

The Seeker walked over to the table, sitting dejectedly on a chair by the window, and Eliana followed her, sliding to straddle the bench beside her so they were face-to-face.  
  
“I am such a fool.” Cassandra held a hand over her eyes.

“Well, I doubt it’s any consolation, but _I_ still like you?” Eliana smiled at her hopefully, and Cass fought the urge to smile back.

“Inquisitor, I’m serious!”

“You think I’m not? And no one is around, so don’t call me that.”  
  
  
She grinned at her friend now, and the Seeker grinned back before sighing, looking Eliana in the eye.

“I want you to know, I have no regrets. Perhaps if we’d found the Hero or Hawke, the Maker wouldn’t have needed to send _you._ But he did.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m really very sorry about _that_ little mix up He made….” Eliana flinched slightly at the mention of the Deity she didn’t believe in.  
  
“You’re…not what I’d have pictured,” Cassandra admitted with an apologetic smile, “But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I know less than nothing.”  
  
“That’s not true, Cass. You have a great gut instinct. Deep down, you knew Varric was lying to you to protect Hawke. But you let him, because, _somewhere_ there’s _someone_ you would have done the same for.”  
  
“Maybe once. But I understand. Hawke is more family to Varric than his _real_ brother.” The Seeker sighed, getting up.  
  
“Do you want to stay here when we go to Crestwood? Cool down a bit?” She tried to say it comfortingly, but Eliana saw the determination set in her friend’s jaw.

“No, I’ll feel better once I get to cut something in half,” she joked grimly, “And Leliana’s report says there’s plenty of undead walking about.” 

_Fantastic…Wet, muddy, slimy undead._  
  
“Sounds like _loads_ of fun!” Eliana piped, sardonically.

 

 

 

After leaving the Seeker, she went back to find Varric. He was leaning against his usual table in the Hall, looking up at her like a kicked puppy. Eliana walked up to him and gently patted his back.  
  
“You can stop your death-grip on Bianca. Cassandra’s calmed down.”  
  
“Define ‘calmed down’ for me in terms of who, or what, she’s punching?”  
He didn’t wait for an answer before turning to her with a pleading look.

“I wasn’t trying to keep secrets; I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important…at the time….”

  
“I know, Varric. Otherwise, you’d have never been able to keep quiet,” she said, smiling.  
  
“I keep hoping none of this is real—that it’s just some Fade bullshit, and it’ll just disappear.”  
  
“Me too, my Joy. Me too.” She started to turn.  
  
“I know I need to do better…I’m sorry.” He was ashamed, and Eliana’s heart ached for him.  
  
“He is your best friend, and after all this, it just goes to show that you’re a damn good friend to have. Just remember, if you need something important kept quiet, Leliana is good for that. And…so am I.”  
  
“Haha, yeah right! Leliana does what she wants. And, no offense, but it’s kind of your _job_ to get take care of important shit, not keep it under wraps.”  
  
Eliana shrugged one shoulder and raised an eyebrow.  
  
“If it is important enough for me to take care of, _you_ wouldn’t keep it quiet.”  
  
He smiled widely and conceded, agreeing to go to Crestwood despite fear of Cassandra. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Eliana winked before going to extend the invitation to Vivienne.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, when Solas arrived at the stables, he noticed Eliana was already there, brushing out Da’assan and talking to the stable hands as they did the same to nine other horses he hadn’t seen before, not one the same breed.  
  
“Inquisitor,” he greeted her politely, if not a little distantly, as she had barely looked in his direction since their…discussion. She, though, surprised him with her excitement.  
  
“Solas! I have a gift for you!” She was beaming at him, dragging him over to an Amaranthine Charger that was as black as midnight.  
  
“I finally had Josie set aside enough so that Master Dennet could provide you all with fresh mounts that suited you each, individually. This handsome gentleman is yours,” she said warmly, nuzzling the stallion’s muzzle in a way that would be unwise for anyone else. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
“A stallion? They’re rarely known for their calm natures as mounts,” he said calmly, though he knew the horse would cause him no trouble. They never did. He reached out and stroked the Charger’s neck affectionately.  
  
“Yeah, you look like you’re going to have a really hard time keeping him under control,” she mocked, rolling her eyes, “What’ll you call him?” 

He raised his eyebrow at her again, as if it was ridiculous to name his mount. But as she continued to stare, he sighed and thought for a moment.

“Fenvir, I suppose,” he granted.  
  
She cocked her own brow at this, giving him a knowing look that made him uncomfortable; he looked at her inquiringly.  
  
“You and your wolves,” she shrugged, keeping her grin.

  
  
“Elie, my little dove! What are these magnificent creatures doing here?”  
  
Dorian had appeared before Solas could ask what she had meant, and she danced over to him, dragging him back to his own new mount.  
  
“Oh, Little Vixen, an Imperial, of course! You really know just how to sweep a man off his feet!” Dorian purred at her as Solas rolled his eyes. He wanted to laugh aloud when he overheard the Altus call his horse “Luxuria”.

  
**_“IS THAT AN ASAARASH?!”_** Bull came running ahead of the rest of the group now, excited to see a horse from his homeland.

  
Solas watched Eliana introduce each of her companions to their new mounts, finding her genuine delight at their approval endearing. She was so _happy_ to be able to give them each something she felt was unique to them. Blackwall and Vivienne each seemed _especially_ pleased with their Coursers—Anderfel and Orlesian, respectively, of course.

Cole had immediately pressed his forehead to his new mount, and was obviously having some sort of conversation with it. Even Sera admitted her horse was “pretty, for a biter”. And no one thought to laugh when she presented Varric with a Miniature Forder that he could mount, dismount, and sit comfortably astride. He even saw the dwarf laugh excitedly when Eliana whispered to him that his mount was small, but could outrun Cassandra’s Dales Feral.

 

 

He noticed then, as they packed up their things, that her hair had been pulled back into a long Orlesian-style braid down her back, making her cheekbones appear sharper—and not hiding the scars on her neck, as she usually did. She looked striking: a true leader. And when she glanced over her shoulder at him as she mounted Da’assan, he saw—just for a moment—an untamed blood lust he had never seen before.

_Maybe ma da’len is the dangerous one here. Asha amal sa el'las'in._

 

* * *

 

> _Vhenan,_
> 
> _I may be writing a bit too early, but I believe I may have a delicate situation._  
>  _Telsila tamahn nuva fen fra ma'laveth. Even of my true friends here, I am unsure whom_  
>  _I can trust without risking action taken prematurely. Do not reply. I will write again soon_  
>  _when I know more. Emma vhenas bell'ana. Ar lath ma._
> 
> _—Halesta_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenvir: lit. Way of the Wolf  
> Ma da'len: My Little One  
> Asha amal sa el'las'in: A woman keeping a great secret  
> Telsila tamahn nuva fen fra ma'laveth: I fear there is a wolf on my tail.  
> Emma vhenas bell'ana: You are my heart/home forever.  
> Ar lath ma: I love you
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry I'm being lazy, I'm sick :(
> 
> xoxoxox


	20. Subject for Debate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En Route to Crestwood through the Frostbacks:  
> Eliana gets caught away from camp during her watch shift,  
> and sprinkled with a dash of slightly-risqué fluff.
> 
>  
> 
> I don't know _why_ this was so hard to write,  
>  but it messed with my head. Maybe it's the cold/sniffles I have.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! <3 Muah!!! xoxox

They had ridden all day through the mountains by the time they reached Gherlen’s Pass. They had made sure to set up camp far and away from the actual road through the pass, for obvious reasons.  
  


Eliana had enjoyed her day, listening to her friends talk, occasionally nudging Da’assan into the dash she could always feel her mount resisting—until one or other of her companions either raced after or called out for her to stop.

_Ever in danger as the Inquisitor, as the Herald._

It wasn’t any less true before the titles, but the _officiality_ of the designation felt like a physical target placed on her. And she felt that she was constantly attempting to distract herself from it.

As they rode, she overheard Bull speaking directly to Vivienne for the first time.  
  
“You know, Viv, I was watching you at Haven, and you're not bad with that staff.

  
“You will address me as Knight Enchanter Vivienne, Court Mage to the Empire of Orlais,” Viv sniffed, “Or Madame de Fer. Not, ‘Viv.’"

  
“Oh. Right, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am.” Bull didn’t quite cower, but he _did_ look surprisingly intimidated.

  
“Hmm. Yes, "ma'am" works as well,” Vivienne chirped, looking very pleased with herself.  
 

“Come now, _Vivienne_. Bull has been nothing but respectful and complimentary,” Eliana said, in her most regal voice, calling over her shoulder.  
  
  
“Darling, it _always_ serves to remind others of their station, whether above or beneath you.”  
 

 

“You would know,” Solas murmured so only Eliana could hear him, and she laughed sharply before thinking to cover her mouth with her hand.

  
Madame De Fer, knowing the Apostate had said _something_ , piped up again.   


“Solas darling, if you wish instruction in proper magical attacks, do let me know.” Her voice was sickly sweet, like old flowers decaying in a vase.

  
“Oh, I shall, Enchanter. Perhaps you will direct me to a Circle mage who does not front-load her barriers?” Solas remained perfectly straight-faced, peeking over innocently when Eliana gave him an admonishing side-long glance.

  
“Shall we stop for lunch?” She suggested before Vivienne could respond, just as they reached a clearing in a snow-covered vale.  


 

Though Solas had rarely spoken to her directly, he had spent the day at her side, often the one volunteering to chase her when she let Da’assan break into a gallop. Her other companions were kind enough to spare her any knowing looks; even Dorian remained politely straight-faced whenever Solas helped her off her horse that night.  
  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren.” She could feel her letter weighing heavy in her pocket, and couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but he didn’t respond.  
  
  
Varric, as usual, was in charge of starting the fire, as the rest set up their tents. Until they got to the forward camp at Crestwood, they were stuck with four tents, meaning one tent had to hold three people, and one person kept watch, while the rest slept two to a tent. Eliana was _not_ looking forward to that conversation.  
  
  
Bull kindly took the job of preparing dinner—roasted wild Druffalo he, Varric, and Blackwall had managed to take down earlier.  
Dorian sidled up beside her as she helped Cole set up one of the tents.

“Precious, share a tent with Bull and me!” He knew her concern immediately.  
  
  
“Oh, my Prince, as small as I am, I don’t think there will be room!”

 

“You can stay with Solas and me. I don’t need sleep, but I will if you tell me to. Solas likes to sleep, so he takes the earliest watch.” 

“I believe that’s up to Solas, Cole.” Eliana smiled warmly at her Spirit-Boy.  
  
“I will ask, “ he said simply, walking off to find Solas.

  
  
“It’s safer with Cole there,” she said quietly to Dorian’s doubtful expression.  
  
“That… is probably true, actually,” he admitted, thoughtfully.  
  
  
They walked over to the pallets Blackwall had laid out for them all to sit on, Bull already passing around a bottle of Antivan wine. As Eliana poured herself a small amount, she could hear Solas and Cole talking near the tents behind her; their discussion not quite coherent to her.

 

“It makes sense. It holds them as they die. But then it's a man, and he wants a woman. Why?” Cole’s questions ever innocent, ever desperate to understand.

“When they possess people, they often indulge in feelings they have never before experienced.”

“But it changed. It is blank, black, blunted from being. It never wanted before.”

“Have you felt no interest in women since you came through the Veil?” Solas asked, curiously. 

“No,” Cole answered, simply.

 

  
They joined the rest of the group then, and they all sat around, laughing at a a story of Varric’s, or one of Blackwall’s jokes, laughing at Sera get too drunk to walk. Even Vivienne had given a laughing snort when Sera made fun of Solas.

“The veil is wobbly here….”  


“You sure it isn't wiggly?” Blackwall countered, seeming unsure.

“Certainly not! It's much more squeaky.” Cass, in a rare mood.  
  
“Perhaps a bit warbly instead?” Dorian, all seriousness.

“I was going with spicy.” Bull winked at Dorian, pointedly.

 

And as Solas sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, Eliana laughed so hard, she cried—grateful she declined sharing a tent with Bull and Dorian. They put away their pots and flagons and roasting spit, and discussions of watch-shifts were made.  
  
  
“I’ll take the last watch.” Eliana said, “since you’ll all be more likely to wake up if I start screaming.”

  
It was meant to be a joke, but Cassandra and Vivienne nodded their stern agreement.

 

 

She crawled into the tent with Cole, as Solas took first watch, and stripped off her leggings, not thinking to be embarrassed—because Cole certainly wasn’t.

  
“What letter?” Cole asked.

She widened her eyes at him and pressed a finger to her lips.  
  
  
“It’s to a friend. No one can know.” She whispered.  
  
  
“It’s about the Wolf…” He whispered back, eyes wide. “But he’s not that kind of wolf.”  
  
  
“Any wolf is just a playful puppy until you get in the way of what it wants,” she whispered back,  
“just….don’t say anything else about it, okay, Cole?”

  
  
“Okay, Halesta,” He murmured, quietly.  
  
  
“And, you can’t call me that in front of anyone, okay?”  
  
  
“Okay. Sorry, Eliana.”  
  
  
“Ma serannas, da’len. Rest well, sweetheart.”  
  
  
“You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

* * *

 

 

Solas had been outside the tent just long enough to hear Cole call her “Halesta”.  
  
  
_“And, you can’t call me that in front of anyone, okay?”_  
  
  
Halesta.  
  
  
Well, that makes a lot more sense. So, why Eliana?

 

He sat at the edge of the camp nearest to the Pass, and kept turning it over in his mind.  
  
_Her mother, her brother, her father, the dead Laleal._  
  
He didn’t have enough pieces to make it connect. He could hear Cole shifting around, not sleeping, wanting to tell him things that the Spirit had promised he wouldn’t.

  
  
  
It was only three hours, but it felt like forever. Cassandra woke like clockwork to take the second shift. 

When he finally crawled into the tent, Cole was gone. He looked to Eliana, thinking to ask her, but her eyes were closed, her breathing was shaky—but steady—and her hair was spread all over, like she was floating underwater.  
  
  
He pulled off his tunic, and then his shirt, climbing into the empty bedroll Cole had left him,  
  
  
“Solas?” He heard her whisper in the dark, barely loud enough to hear.  
  
  
“Yes, da’len? Where did Cole go?”  
  
  
“I don’t know. He just left. Like he does.... Would you—?”  
  
  
“Would I, what, da’len?”  
  
  
“…Nothing, Hahren. I’m sorry for bothering you.” He sighed loudly at this, sensing she was concerned with making him uncomfortable.  
  
  
“Ane eireth, da’len?”

“I am fine, Hahren.”

 

He growled, exasperated, pulling her bedroll against his, arranging them so they were laying on one roll and covered by the other, her body pressed right up against his own and she slowly, hesitantly, laid her head and a hand on his chest. He lied with one arm behind his head and the other around her waist, holding her in place. He could feel her warm skin through her thin night-shirt, the curve of her waist, and he had to swallow another growl when he felt her wrap her legs around his own, her feet freezing despite still having her legs wraps on. He _wanted_ her, and the restraint was painful. Almost unbearable. He could take her right now, and she wouldn't fight; not if that kiss was any indication. She had _mewed_ for him. Even now, she was shifting against him like a prayer, begging him to just....  
  
  
“Solas?” He could hear the apprehension in her voice, and couldn’t bring himself to be anything but glad to be with her.  
  
“Yes, Halevune?” He felt the heat from her blush on his chest, heard the smile in her voice.  
  
“Would you tell me a memory you saw in the Fade?”

   
He smiled.  
  


"Gladly. I saw a young Qunari working in a simple kitchen, baking bread as she was ordered every morning.”  
  
He listened to her heartbeat slow as he spoke.  
  
  
“In every loaf she broke the rules. She’d take a pinch of sugar and fold it into the center, like a secret….”  
  
Her breathing became slower, steadier.

  
”And this act of small rebellion brought a shining smile to her face."  
  
She had fallen asleep.

 

  
  
_It had always been easy to find her in the Fade. Cole said to him once that she shined brightly, and he was right. Solas did his best to protect her without entering her dreams; she drew every sort of spirit to her like moths to flame. He could see her now, whispering urgently to another Dalish girl, but he had to stay too away to hear. He saw her cry as other girl was smoothing her hair, wiping her face, kissing her lips. And then the other girl left his little da’len collapsed and sobbing on the ground, holding her hand for as long as she could before she had to release her, to pull away._

 

* * *

 

 

She woke for last watch, slipping out and nodding to Blackwall as he waved, yawning, and crawling into his shared-tent with Varric and ( _hilarious, in Eliana’s opinion_ ) Sera.  
After awhile, she silently slipped away. She only had to get to the Pass. She made it in only a quarter-hour, running barefoot through the snow. It had been painful at first, but running and the sense of urgency made her forget the hurt quickly.  
  
At the Pass, The Messenger was already waiting, his half-color vallas’lin of Elgar'nan the only identifier of who he was.  
  
She handed him the letter and gave him four gold sovereigns.  
  
“Laleal of Clan Alhavenlan.”  
  
He merely nodded and glancing nervously over her shoulder, seemed to disappear.  
  
She looked at the ground and exhaled, knowing what that glance meant. She’d been caught.  
  
  
  
She turned slowly to see Solas, standing bare-chested and barefoot, the moonlight reflecting off the snow beneath him, making him glow like some kind of Elvhen Ice God. The only expression on his face was his quirked eyebrow.  
  
  
“Laleal. Your friend that died.”  
  
  
They weren’t questions. He had heard.

“It’s hardly any of your business, Solas.”  
 

But she heard her voice shake, and he crossed his arms.  
  
  
“I’m sure the rest of the camp would feel differently, being left without anyone on watch.”  
  
_He wouldn’t._

 

“Perhaps. But Cole was near.”  
  
“I’m sure that will be a great comfort to them. If we go wake them now, we might be able to catch that messenger, so they can understand your urgency.”

_Okay, he would._

 

He acted so detached, but he spoke to her like a lenalin catching his esha'lin in a lie.

  
Her feet had begun to burn again from the cold of the snow, and she was shivering—as she forgot her coat before she left, having been huddled under a blanket while on watch.  
  
_How is the damn Wolf not shaking right now? At least I have a shirt on._

“Come.”  
  
He turned and began walk back to the camp, and she followed, like the sad little pup she felt like. It would take them double the time to return while walking, if she didn’t pass out from hypothermia. _Again._

 

“ _Sathan_ , Hahren….”

 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t even look down at her.  
  
“I didn’t ask for this! Do I deserve no privacy merely because I’ve had a title imposed on me?”

 

He stopped then, turning sharply. His eyes were glaring ice, but his body was so warm, giving off so much heat, and she was momentarily distracted by the thought of reaching out and running her fingers over his skin.  
  
“How is anyone supposed to trust you, Eliana?”

 

She couldn’t take the pain in her feet anymore, and she collapsed, kneeling in front of him. She was shaking so violently, and she was so afraid.  
  
_I will not cry._  
  
  
Then, in a moment, she was in his arms, her body greedily absorbing the warmth radiating off of him.  
  
  
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his throat, and whispered into the hallow of his collarbone.  
 

“Melava, as dea ma' nas'taron, ma’ vhen’an….”  
  
His pace slowed slightly, so he could hear her over the crunch of the snow.  
  
“Sule as dea verem…. Saotem alin.”

He didn’t speak, and Eliana was grateful for it. He merely carried her in silence, and when they reached the camp, he set her on a pallet and wrapped the blanket back around her.  
  
He went back into the tent, and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her knees. The heartache was an old one—she didn’t cry about it anymore. But it still hurt, regardless.

 

She felt the pressure on the pallet beside her, and she lifted her head, surprised that he had come back out. He had put on his shirt and re-wrapped his feet. He looked up at the mountains around them. He was so striking in profile—so sharp and handsome.  
  
  
“I don’t need you to love me, Solas.”  
  
  
She didn’t know what made her say it. It was a fact—she _didn’t_ need him to love her.  
  
_But I want him to._

 

He looked down at her with some strange mixture of stern disapproval and gentle fondness.  
And while she was surprised by her own realization, his answer was even more staggering.  
  
  
“It was not a subject for debate.”

 

She didn’t know what exactly he meant, whether it was good or bad, or—like most things in her life—some sort of grey area in-between. But he sat there with her in silence as the sun slowly rose. And when her companions finally rose, he didn’t say a thing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Ane eireth: You are cold  
> Halevune: MoonFox  
> Lenalin: Father, Male Parent  
> Esha'lin: Child (/his child)  
> Sathan: Please (*in the sense of asking or pleading)
> 
> Melava, as dea ma' nas'taron, ma’ vhen’an….Sule as dea verem…. Saotem alin.:  
> A long time ago, she was my twin-soul, my heart/home....  
> Until she was taken from me.... Bonded/married to a stranger.


	21. Crestwood (or: A Lot Closer Than This)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Gang take care of business in Crestwood,  
> Eliana and Hawke flirt shamelessly,  
> and Eliana gets sick. 
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry there's not as much Solas-Eliana interaction in this one,   
> but I didn't want to skim over the plot too too much.  
> I'll make it up to you in the next chapter, I _swear_.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 Muah! xoxo

Solas could see the shame and gratitude on her face, but there was something else. They reached the outskirts of Crestwood and then, the only expressions she had was silent misery, and irritation. But still, her face seemed more pale than usual, and not in a good way. She seemed to be lacking her usual energy.  
He wanted to ask her about “Halesta”; why Cole had called her that. But this was not the time or place. The Spirit-Boy had been eyeing them with quiet anxiety since they had left the Pass, but never said anything; understanding Solas’s thoughts about not mentioning it.

Eliana had brought her scarf, but even that didn’t seem to help the drowned-look she had. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since her last comment to him. Even Da’assan seemed to pick up on her owner’s sullen attitude.   


“Let's be watchful. I understand this country's full of dogs,” Dorian called out, his distaste evident.   
  
The rest of the company had been talking, but this was the first time anyone had bothered to speak up.

           

“I smell tha damp. Just... in everythin’.” Sera was next, whining.   


Solas could see the Forward Camp now, and Eliana dismounted and walked the rest of the way, Da’assan following behind her obediently. He heard the confused mumbles of her friends behind him, but he followed suit, grabbing the reins of his own mount and leading him to where the Inquisitor had approached Scout Harding.

 

“Good to see you safe, Inquisitor. We’ve got trouble ahead.”   
  
The Scout was not her usual, bubbly self, but she did seem to instantly improve Eliana’s mood—but on her feet now, the elf looked a little less stable.  
  
“If _you’re_ on edge, I should alert the entire Inquisition,” Eliana joked, nervously.  
  
“ _Or_ increase my hazard pay?” The scout smiled back, but her eyes indicated the seriousness of her discomfort.

  
“Are things that bad?” Eliana was worried now, and Harding led her over to the wall at the edge of camp, overlooking the lake.

 

There was no need to point anything out: the green glow coming from underneath the water was instantly identifiable. He could see Eliana’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and then close as she sighed in a defeated way.

 

“Crestwood was the site of a flood ten years ago, during the Blight. It’s not the only Rift in the area, but after _that_ one appeared, corpses started walking up out of the lake. You’ll have to fight through them to get to where Hawke and Stroud are hiding,” the scout explained, apologetically.   


“Have any undead attacked here? Are you safe?”  


“We’ve had a few shamblers, but most seem more interested in the Village. Maybe someone in Crestwood can tell you how to get to the Rift in the lake. Maker knows they’ll want the help.” The scout shrugged, looking at the Inquisitor’s face with a knowing sympathy.

  
“Thank you, Lace.”  
  
“Good luck, Inquisitor. And please, be safe?”

 

  
They immediately began to plod down the slope to the gravelly shore, and Eliana was scanning the area intensely.  


“There must be a way to get to the rift in the lake…” she thought, aloud.  


“You mean, aside from wearing all your armor and wading in,” Dorian quipped, the rest having finally caught up.

  
“Swimming?” Bull joked, too, but when she didn’t laugh, they exchanged worried look.

 

“It sounds different. The water changes the song.” Cole told her, quietly, and she nodded to him in heartfelt agreement, placing a hand on his arm as she turned around to face the rest.  


“Okay, then. I guess our first stop is Crestwood Village,” she sighed, looking almost broken….

 

“Inquisitor, are you—“ Cassandra had noticed to, but Eliana had just put her hand up.  
  
“I just want to get this over with as soon as possible.”  
  
The way she said it, as though she was having her arm metaphorically twisted, visibly unnerved her friends. There was something wrong with her, and she wasn’t telling anyone. And that annoyed Solas.

 

As they trudged back up to the path to the village, Solas trailed behind with Cole.  
  
“What is wrong with Eliana, Cole?”  
  
“I can’t tell. I promised I wouldn’t.” Cole glanced to their leader, nervously.  
  
“Not that, I mean, is she ill? Is she in physical pain?” Solas pressed.  
  
“Oh. Yes.” The Spirit-Boy seemed to sigh with relief.  
  
“Which one, Cole?”   
  
“Both. Her anchor hurts her here. So does the bone that was broken in her leg. She is also beginning to feel feverish, and this makes her frustrated. She thinks she should not have walked barefoot last night. But she does not want anyone to know.” Solas sighed, nodding to Cole.  
  
“Thank you, Cole. Just let me take care of it. Don’t tell anyone anything else she wouldn’t want you to.”  
  
“Except you? She always thinks you will figure it out anyway.”  
  
Solas considered the opportunity, but then decided against it. He wouldn’t manipulate the Spirit in that way and risk twisting his nature.  
  
“No, Cole. Only tell me if she is ill, or if her anchor hurts, and she doesn’t want anyone to know. Everything else she keeps to herself is her own business.”  
  
Cole nodded and Solas walked forward, looking to speak to Cassandra.

 

As he spotted her, their party had just come over a hill to see a few men trying to protect a small elf woman, and fighting what were—essentially—walking skeletons, dripping with bloated and rotting flesh.   
  
“Ewwww, nasty buggers!” Sera observed as she let an arrow fly through the skull of one, only to draw its attention towards them.  
  
Solas lowered his barrier over the group, feeling it reinforced with help from Dorian, as Eliana, Bull, Blackwall, and Cassandra ran headlong at the corpses. Eliana was moving more slowly than usual, and Solas could see her strain, but she still was dancing around the undead with her blades sparking, stabbing and gouging long enough to distract them for one of the other warriors to hack them up. She had paused to take a gasping breath, not seeing the shambling body coming up behind her. Before Solas could cast a spell, or even call out, Cole appeared in a puff of Fade, snatching her up, and Fade-stepping to set her beside Solas. She groaned her disapproval and moved to stand up, but skirmish was over.

 

 

"Inquisitor! The Grey Wardens thank you for your aid.”   
  
She managed to walk over to him, putting her dagger back in its sheath, but warily keeping a hand on the hilt.  
  
“What are _you_ doing in Crestwood?” Her tone was too suspicious.  
  
“A Warden named Stroud is wanted for questioning by Commander Clariel. I hope he comes peacefully; he’s a good man. I trained under him ‘a time. We heard he’d passed through here, but the villagers knew nothing. They got their own troubles.”  
  
  
The young elven woman was thanking one of the other Wardens….   


"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

 

“Get home, now. It's too dangerous to be wandering about."   
The Warden warned, pointing towards the village, and she scampered off.  


“Can you not stay and help?” Eliana asked the first Warden, sternly.

  
“If we could, we would stay, but our orders forbid it. If you can, perhaps the Inquisition would see about helping these poor souls. The village has already lost so many..."

 

"We will see what we can do." Her voice was still so suspicious, but the Warden seemed not to notice.  
  
 "Thank you. Andraste guide you."

 

 

They started off again towards the village.  
  
“None of the Wardens mentioned a new leader. Perhaps they are not part of Corypheus’s plot?” Cassandra suggested, hopefully.  
  
“Righ’. Cause they woulda’ said!” Sera retorted sarcastically. 

 

“Let’s just hope Stroud has some answers for us,” Eliana said, tone indicating it was time for them to stop talking.  
  
“Seeker,” Solas approached Cassandra now.  
  
“Yes, Solas?”   
  
“I believe the Inquisitor has fallen ill. When I woke this morning, I found she had spent her entire watch out in the snow, without her boots or coat.”  
  
“She…does seem a bit pale, even for her. And irritable.”  
  
“As well as exhausted. You witnessed Cole having to remove her, back there. She normally is too alert to allow that to happen.”  
  
“Thank you, Solas.” She nodded to him, her face severe with concern.  
  
As they approached the village gate, Eliana didn’t even bother trying to help kill off the three undead. Sera, Varric, Bull, and Cassandra finished them off in mere seconds; while Eliana watched, Solas noticed her eyes beginning to take on a hazy, far-away look.

 

* * *

 

 

 After stopping the young elf girl from earlier, Jana, from running off and joining the Wardens in a fit of blind gratitude, with a little help from Solas, they had a new Inquisition agent. And now they were standing around awkwardly in the Mayor’s house as he stared wistfully into the fire.

 

"Inquisition, hmm? Mayor Dedrick of Crestwood Village, at your service…Despite everything.”  
  
“Actually, it’s _The_ Inquisitor,” she said, hearing Dorian chuckle at her unusual show of sass. “And we’re here to help. The Rift below the lake is the problem, and I need to know how to get to it.”  
  
She knew she was being rude, but she really was beginning to feel unwell, and she could tell by the way the Mayor was behaving that he was uncomfortable, hiding something.  


“The glow? It’s coming from below old Crestwood Village, from the caves. Darkspawn flooded it ten years ago, during the Blight. Wiped out the village, and the refugees we took. No real way of getting to it, unless you want a boat."

 

"And the dam? We could use it to drain the lake," Solas suggested, standing as tall as usual, hands behind his back.

 

"You intend to drain the-- There must be another way!"

 

"There’s not. There’s really not." Eliana had to fight the urge to smile at Bull’s glib tone.   
  
"You’d have to evict the Bandits that took up residence to use the dam. I can’t ask you to risk your life…." She wanted to sigh. He really was trying so hard to talk them out of this.

 

"I’ve fought worse."

  
“She has. She really has.” Bull kept the same, deadpan tone, causing her face to twitch with the laughter she was repressing.

 

"I—suppose I have no choice, then... Here is the key you need to reach the dam controls. They are inside the old tavern."

 

“Be back in no time,” she trilled pleasantly, walking out the door. She immediately turned to Cole.

 

“He’s ashamed and afraid, but I can’t tell why,” He said to her, quietly.  
  
“I know. Go tell Scout Harding to send some of her people to make sure he doesn’t try to run off. I feel like he’s getting a bit restless at the thought of our draining that lake.”  
  
Cole nodded and with a “Poof!” was gone.  
  
“Humf, we- _eir_ d,” Sera whined.  
  
“Let’s go see about that dam.”   
  
_Ughhh, I don’t want to do this right now….I just want to sleep._  
  
She thought her voice was confident, but she caught Solas looking at her, eyebrows furrowed. Ignoring him, she strode off to meet Cassandra at the gate.  


  
They slogged through the mud and the rain to Caer Bronach Keep. When it was in sight, she ducked down behind an old stone wall, joined quickly by the rest of her friends; Bull peeking his head up ever-so-subtly to eye the situation.

 

“They're frightened inside, trapped by walls that protect them,” Cole whispered to no one in particular.

   
“Gate open, no patrols. Risky, but we could rush it,” Bull asserted, shrugging.  
  
Eliana pulled herself up, looked at the keep, when something caught her eye.  
  
“Or, we could skip the bandits altogether, sneak over to that gate the Mayor said leads to the old Tavern, and open the damn dam without exhausting ourselves with a fight?”  
  
“Well, don’t I feel stupid.” Dorian looked up and saw what she was talking about.

 

“Cole, can you cover us? Quietly take down anyone who spots us without drawing any attention?”  
  
Cole nodded, solemnly, and the group moved off, slipping around the side of the Keep.   
  
“This feels cowardly,” Cass whispered, but looking at Eliana’s face, “But the bandits are not the immediate threat. You are right, we are conserving energy.”  
  
Cole took out several bandits keeping watch, sliding their bodies to the ground silently. As Eliana opened the tavern door, she was met with a shriek: two kids cuddled up in front of a fireplace, kissing and fumbling about.  
  
“Don’t mind us, we’ll be in and out faster than…well… _him_ ,” Eliana said, gesturing to the boy. She heard her friends laugh, and a chuckle from Solas behind her, causing her face to blush. They split up, and Varric was the first to find the controls.  
  
“Little Bit, over here!” She walked over and was immediately annoyed.  
  
“The mayor said darkspawn destroyed these controls ten years ago. Who repaired them?” Her voice was flat.

 

“Good point. Let’s ask the mayor.” Varric seemed pleased by the mystery.

  
“The mayor. His shame had this shape,” Cole spoke, his voice surprised and confused. Sera nodded sharply, sneering.

 

“Righ’. Somefin stinks b’sides fish and...er, fish.”

 

Eliana pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to think of the fastest way to get this all done.  
  
“Okay, we’re splitting up. Bull, Dorian, Cole, Sera: you go down to Old Crestwood and clear it out, make sure it’ll be easy enough to walk through. But don’t go into the caves; you can’t close the Rift, so it would just be unnecessarily dangerous.”  
  
They nodded, though Dorian was giving her a silent look of concern.  
  
“The rest of you are coming with me to meet up with Hawke and Stroud. We’ll join the Bull and the rest afterwards. Come on.”

 

As they snuck back by the Keep—much easier on the return, thanks to Cole—Solas sidled up beside her.  
  
“Why did you not send _me_ down there with them?” Polite and curious. Unreadable as ever.  
  
“Would you have gone if I had told you to?” she asked, struggling to maintain her breath.  
  
“No.” She heard the smirk in his voice, but didn’t look at him.  
“Then why ask me a question you already knew the answer to?”  
  
She saw him shrug out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“To see if you’d admit that you like having me close,” he purred, smugly.  
  
“I’ll admit that I like having you a lot closer than this,” she cooed back, and from his following silence, she knew she had surprised him.  
  
She felt terribly weak, but refused to show it. They walked up over slick grass and rolling gravel for what felt like forever. Finally, she saw Hawke, looking broodingly handsome, as he set down his pack on the ground next to an ominous-looking cave.   


“Demoiselle Inquisitor!” Hawke beamed, dramatically bowing to kiss her hand.

“Tu l'air radieux!”   
  
She giggled, and felt the flush on her face.  
  
“Hawke, I barely speak enough Orlesian to accept that compliment, nevermind enough to call you out for _lying_.”  
  
He flapped his hand as though she was being ridiculous, before looking at Cassandra.

 

“My Lady Seeker, I’m sorry for our extended dance.”  
  
“Shut up, Hawke.” Cassandra had less words for Hawke than Eliana had expected.  
  
“Yes ma’am, sorry.” He turned back to Eliana.  
  
“I just got here myself. Stroud should be at the back of the cave,” he grinned and she found her pulse flutter as she smiled back.  
  
“He’s not the only Warden around. It’s a good thing his ‘friends’ weren’t able to find him.”  
  
“Oh, I saw them earlier,” the Mage said, dismissively. “Shall we?” He offered his arm.  
  
“—Oh, and he’s a bit, ah, skittish, as you can imagine. Your friends had better wait here until he comes back out with us,” he added as her companions moved to follow.   
  
“Don’t worry, Hedge-Mage. Varric wouldn’t trust me with your Inquisitor unless he was certain she could take me,“ Hawke flashed a grin to Solas, after noting his look of apprehension.   
  
“Yeah, Hawke, I meant to warn you,” Varric joked with a grin, “Keep an eye on that Little Foxlette. She might be the most dangerous person we’ve ever met!”

 

“Oh, is that so?” Hawke looked at her with mock-scandal as she took his arm, leading her into the cave. She only smiled impishly.   
  
The cave was wet and dripping, but lit every few feet by torches hung on the wall. She eyed the make-shift door warily—seeing it was painted with the Banner of the Blindman.  
  
“Don’t worry, Foxlette, he kicked them all out,” Hawke whispered in her ear.  
  
She fluttered her flashes at him, as he opened the door.  
  
“Stroud, darling, we’re home!” The Warden looked a bit less than amused as he approached them.  
  
“Stroud, my I introduce the _most lovely_ Inquisitor. Lady Inquisitor, this is Warden Stroud.”  
  
“I am at your service, Inquisitor,” the Warden bowed politely.  
  
“I hear you may be the friend to have if I need some information? Specifically regarding the mass-disappearance of the Wardens in connection to a certain Darkspawn Magister, Corypheus?”  
  
“Yes, m’lady. When my friend Hawke, here, slew Corypheus, Weisshaupt was glad to put the matter to rest. But Archdemons can survive wounds that seem fatal, and my fear regarding Corypheus possessing the same ability proved true. I investigated and found clues—but no proof. But then…every Warden in Orlais began hearing The Calling.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Hawke was upset, so Eliana guessed this was a bad thing.  
  
“It was a Warden matter, and I was sworn to secrecy.”  
  
“So, The Calling. It’s like a Grey Warden ritual, or…?” Eliana looked from Stroud, to Hawke, and back.

 

“The Calling tells a Warden the Blight will soon claim him. First with dreams, then whispers in your head. The Warden says his farewells, and then travels to the Deep Roads to meet his Fate.”  
  
“So, every Grey Warden in Orlais is hearing this, right now?” She asked, now uncomfortable.  
  
“And they think they’re going to die,” finished Hawke.

 

“Yes. Most likely because of Corypheus.” Stroud turned then, to look her in the eye.

 

“It is our greatest fear, come reality. If the Wardens fall, who will stand against the Blight?”  
  
“So, Corypheus is bluffing,” Hawke understanding before Eliana, but only just.  
  
“Not controlling them, but tricking them to the Deep Roads. Could he do that?”  
  
“I do not know. Even as a Senior Warden, I had only heard but whispers of Corypheus. All I know is that, we Wardens are tied to the Blight ourselves, and that Corypheus can speak with the voice of the Blight, letting him affect us. So if the Wardens _believe_ this calling is real, and are acting accordingly.”  
  
“So…um…you are hearing The Calling, too?”   
  
“Yes, I’m afraid. It lurks like a wolf in the shadows around a campfire. The creature that makes this music….At times, I almost understand it, even though it has never known the love of The Maker. We must discover what Corypheus has done and end it.”

 

“So the Wardens are scared…”Eliana mused to herself.  
  
“We are the only ones who can slay Archdemons. Without us, the world will be consumed by the next Blight. Warden Commander Clarel spoke of a Blood Magic ritual to prevent all future Blight, to be completed before we all died….But I protested the madness, and my own comrades turned against me.”  
  
Stroud let out a sigh and Hawke looked at him, concerned.  
  
“The Grey Wardens gather here, in the Western Approach, at an ancient Tevinter ritual tower. Meet me there, and we will find our answers.” He already had a packed rucksack, which he then picked up and threw over his shoulder.

 

“Foxlette?” Hawke asked, offering his arm again.  
  
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that,” she said, taking his arm and leading Stroud out of the cave to the rest of her companions.  
  
“No, my little vixen, _you_ agreed,” He grinned as they stepped back into the overcast gloom, knowing that the elf that watched her so closely had heard his little sobriquet.  
  
“Everyone, this is Warden Stroud. He and Hawke are leaving now for the Western Approach. We apparently have an appointment with some confused Wardens and, at a guess, some Venatori. Varric, Blackwall, and Vivienne, you will go with them now, stopping at Skyhold and letting our people know we’re going to need supplies ready when we show up.”  
  
Her companions nodded, and Vivienne shot Hawke a glare.  
  
“Until later, Lady Inquisitor,” Hawke flirted, once more bowing and kissing her hand as she tittered.  
  
As each group turned their separate directions, Eliana heard Varric reproving remark at Hawke.  
  
“You’d better be careful, talking to Little Bit like that. Chuckles’ll get fed up with that _real_ quick.”

 

* * *

 

_They had made it to meet the others, who were, except for Cole, less than pleased. There were spirits everywhere. Solas had to admit to himself that he had probably been a little too giddy._

_“These spirits must have come through the rift,” Eliana had said  
_

_“Let's close it before more of them decide to try on corpses,” Dorian had said, as if he weren’t a trained Necromancer._

_“One's looking,” the Spirit-Boy was waving at one, that didn’t respond, “I'm Cole. Don't be afraid!”_

_They passed through the wet and rotting old village quickly enough, Eliana looking worse by the minute. There were rotted corpses spread here and there, mostly in the old houses. The forward team had cleared out all of the demons so far. Eliana kept walking until something caught her eye: the plaque labeling the Mayor’s old house.  
She walked in the now door-less hut, finding a letter that was damp but, surprisingly, still legible after ten years under water. She handed it wordlessly to Solas, her face grim._

> _“The work you ordered is done. Do what you want.  
>  I’ll be in the hills, trying to forget it.”  
>              —Robert_

_She sighed and walked back outside._

_“Let’s go seal that Fade rift,” she had said, weakly, heading away from the shack._

_“It’s humming below us. A window, wanting, wandering, looking back at what’s looking.” Cole seemed far away, but he often did._

_“Cole believes we are headed in the correct direction,” he had offered, just as Eliana crossed over onto a distinct walkway running between a series of stone carvings that_ looked _to be dogs._

_“A path. Did the villagers use this place for anything?” Cassandra seemed as confused as the rest of them._  
  
It seemed they walked for miles down a twisting, spiraling ramp; through the damp—the only light coming from the tips of Dorian’s and Solas’s staffs. They kept finding bodies, and Eliana looked more and more disturbed by it.  
  


_“Bodies? Were people living down here when Old Crestwood flooded?”_

_“Yes. A wall of water, washing over. Lungs tight to bursting, and then suddenly soft, sleepy, sliding away,” Cole answered her, bluntly._

_“Claw marks on the walls…Ah…Best not to think about it too much.”_

_“Bad way to go.” Iron Bull said, agreeing with Dorian’s comment._

_They kept moving, down and down. Solas gently grabbed Eliana’s elbow as she staggered briefly, but he held on when she righted herself, nodding to a hallway off to their right._

_  
“There’s dwarven ruins down here!” She seemed excited, but her voice betrayed her worsening conditioning._

_“The dwarves built well. Their runes still sing.”_

_  
“The whole area is still lit up. Remarkable,” Dorian looked around, as they all moved through the ruins. Solas tried to stay close to Eliana, and when she gave a yelp, he jumped slightly. Quickly he realized it was a squeal of delight as she had come across a family of nugs._

_“The nugs seem to like it down here.”_  
  
She sounded a bit dazed and happy to see the little creatures.

_“It's quiet. They like the quiet,” Cole told her gently, flashing Solas a look of concern.  
“Dwarves used to trap them, but they don't remember the dwarves. Even dwarves don't really remember the dwarves.”_

_“You know, Leliana used to keep one as a pet,” Cassandra remarked, surprising everyone._

_“You're joking,” Eliana and Dorian said in sync._

_“I am not. What was its name again? Schmeples? Shmuples? …It is right on the tip of my tongue,” The Seeker trailed off, thoughtfully._

_Then there was a sound, almost like laughter, but less formed, and they turned a corner. A huge Rage demon—the largest Solas had ever seen—stood in the center of a cavern._  
  
“Don’t worry about dealing with it, just go take care of the Rift,” He had told Eliana, and she looked back, unsure, before stepping aside, letting Cassandra and Iron Bull charge, as Sera let her arrows fly, Cole dashed around, attacking it from every angle, and Dorian sent as much ice magic at it as he could, nodding at Solas to up the barrier and keep an eye on Eliana. He got a distracted when Cassandra received a severe burn from the beast, having to run over and heal her quickly, still maintaining the barrier.  


_  
_ Now he wished he had waited to heal the Seeker until _after_ they had finished off the demon, completely. He looked down at his da’halevune, burning with fever as he carried her. She had managed to seal the Rift, but it had taken the last of her strength.

 

“Are you sure this is the way to the surface?” Cassandra asked, nervously glancing at the unconscious Inquisitor in Solas’s arms.

 

“I feel a draft. Draft means exit.” Bull was nervous too, it was evident in his voice.   
  
But the Qunari was right—they quickly had moved through the dark and into…

_Sunlight? It stopped raining?_

 

Solas was clear-minded enough to send Cole to check on the scouts watching the Mayor, and the remaining party tramped back to the Forward Camp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> da’halevune: Little Moon-Fox


	22. Lath'sal'in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short little fluff-ette:  
> Solas taking care of sick little Eliana.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Muah! <3 xoxox

Eliana didn’t remember anything after closing the Rift in the caves. She didn’t remember how she got back to camp, or into this tent. Everything hurt, she felt awful, and nothing felt real. __  
  
I’m dreaming…  
  
She looked up and Solas was sitting next to her, reading a book and smoothing her hair absentmindedly.  
  
_“Lath'sal'in…”_ She mumbled, smiling a little to herself.  
  
Solas looked down at her, startled, almost snatching his hand back from her head.  
  
“Lethallan, you’re awake.”  
  
“Am I?” She blinked, but everything still seemed like it was happening a little farther away.  
  
“You have a fever; a very high one. I’ve been giving you fluids, and attempting to energize your immune system by sharing my mana, but it’s only been a few hours. We leave for Skyhold in the morning. You need to rest.”

  
None of his words made any sense, but she nodded anyway.  
  
_Look at how lovely he is. How terrifying and gorgeous._

 

She reached her hand out and traced a single line from the tip of his ear to the cleft in his chin, and he let her, sitting incredibly still. But as she moved to trace back to his ear, he grasped her wrist gently and set it back down by her side.  
  
“You are so beautiful,” she said, listlessly, “so intimidatingly, dangerously divine.”  
  
She vaguely registered that something had flashed across his eyes, but it quickly slipped away. She was so cold, she realized, shivering violently. She reached out to him again, grabbing his tunic, trying to pull him to her. He merely quirked an eyebrow, immovable as stone, as she tugged at him.  
  
“What is it, da’len?” He wasn’t smiling, but she thought he sounded amused.  
  
“I’m _cold_ , Hahren. Please, come curl up with me,” she said, seeing the doubtful look on his face, “ _Sathan_ , Solas.”  


He looked at her, his eyes the most lovely grey-blue color

 

“Only if you answer one question for me.” His voice was serious, but she didn’t notice.  
  
“Anything, Hahren,” she purred. She felt herself slipping, but she refused to give in before she felt his body against her. He leaned in close, his face so close to her own, she moaned quietly at how in awe of him she was.  
  
“Who is Halesta?” he whispered.  
  
“Me, silly.” She laughed quietly. He pulled his tunic off, leaving his shirt on, and stretched himself out against her; turning her to face away from him, and curving his body around her own. She felt…victorious.  
  
“Then who is Eliana?” His breath was warm in her ear, and she felt herself shiver in delight.

 

“Mamae,” she whispered back, “but you can’t tell anyone.”  
  
“Dir’vhen’an, ma’ Halesta.

 

His voice, low and stimulating, in her ear were the last thing she knew as she drifted back off.

 

* * *

 

 

He had to have Cassandra help him remove her from the tent the next morning. She was awake, and much more aware, but in too much pain to move.  
  
“It’s just the fever,” he told the Seeker, and Cass nodded, grimly.  
  
“Hang on, little rose,” Dorian had whispered into Eliana’s hair, “it’ll be a rough ride, but we’ll be home soon.  
  
He lifted her—and himself—onto Fenvir, and Cassandra tied an anxious Da’assan to her own mount.  
  
They would be past Gherlen’s Pass in two hours, so they didn’t plan on stopping again until Skyhold. He settled her against him so she was sitting correctly in the saddle, leaning back against him, an arm around her waist, and they rode hard.  


  
They got back to Skyhold late that night, and Solas carried her up from the stables, through the hall, and up to her room, straight past a worried Cullen—shutting the door to her quarters firmly in his face.

 

“That was _rude_ , Hahren,” she mumbled, not opening her eyes.  
  
“I apologize if I am more concerned with your health than the feelings _your_ Commander, da’len.”  
  
He laid her on her bed, and she sighed slightly. He moved over to the fireplace and began warming the buckets of water that had been provided for the tub Josephine had acquired at Eliana’s request. Moving back over to her, he began to remove her foot-wraps.  
  
“No, no. I will undress and get in the tub myself.”  


“Ma nuvenin, da’len.” He politely walked over to her bookshelves, perusing the books she had. It took her longer than he thought, but eventually he heard the splash of her dropping herself into tub.  
  
“Okay, Hahren.”  
  
“I’m not leaving until you are out of the tub and back in bed, da’len.”  
  
He called over his shoulder, but didn’t turn around.  
  
“I supposed as much. I just meant you don’t have to avert your eyes anymore.  
  
_Don’t I, Halevune?_  
  
He walked over to her settee and picked up the book she had left there, sitting down. _A Treaty on the Pagan and Heretical Customs of the Elven_ , by Senallen Tavernier; the same book she had been reading before. Solas opened the book to the page she had earmarked.

> _The Dalish use "Harellan" to mean "traitor to one's kin," but the word does not appear in any Elven text before the Towers Age. The ancient root-word is related to "harillen," or opposition, and "hellathen," or noble struggle. The Dalish call Fen’Harel a god of deception, but I posit a far more accurate translation would be "god of rebellion."_
> 
> _What he rebelled against is a story lost to time. In Dalish legends, Fen'Harel seals away the other deities out of love of trickery. If we understood more ancient elven, we might find earlier versions of the Dread Wolf's story give him a more nuanced motivation beyond spite._

 

“Da’len, why do you have the chapter on the Dread Wolf marked?”  
  
His heart was racing, but he had plenty of practice looking calm and indifferent. She looked up from her hands, surprised, like she had forgotten he was here.

 

“Oh! Well, he was my mother’s favorite God. I realized I didn’t know all that much about him.” She half-shrugged.

 

“Ah.” He looked down, continuing to read, noting little notes scribbled in the margins, but the ink had bled, and they were illegible.  
He heard her stand carefully, and the sound of the bathing towel against her skin.  
  
“Solas?” Her was voice meek, embarrassed. He looked up to see her wrapped in the cloth, sitting on the edge of the tub.  
  
“Da’len…” he said, unsure.

 

“I think I need help back to the bed…I’m sorry, I know this is awkward—“  
  
But he had already strode over to her, lifting her gently and placing her on the bed. He walked to her bureau, grabbing one of her nightshirts, and handing it to her. He turned his back so she could put it on, the sound of the towel hitting the floor making his heart pound.  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren.” He turned back around, nodding to her.  
  
“Get some rest, Inquisitor. We can’t leave for the Western Approach until you’re better.  
  
He turned to leave, but she stopped him, her hand wrapping around one of his fingers.  
  
“Solas, will you stay?” Her eyes were so large, such a bewitching shade of lilac opalescence.  
  
_This delicate, breakable, beautiful little woman is sitting on her bed in her thin night shirt, and_ **no small clothes** _, asking you to stay with her…._  
  
It would take every ounce of strength for him to walk down the stairs and out of her quarters.  


“I’m afraid I cannot, da’len. But I will check on you in the morning. Dream well, Halevune.”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lath'sal'in: the act of fondling a loved-one's hair  
> Lethallan: Close friend, blood kin, clan mate  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Sathan: Please (*in the sense of asking or pleading)  
> Mamae: Mother, Momma, Mom  
> Dir’vhen’an: Promise, oath  
> Halevune: MoonFox  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks


	23. Expect Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisky and flirty fluff:  
> Solas and Eliana en route to the Western Approach.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope this makes up for Crestwood....  
> Muah! <3 xoxo

_Solas's long fingers ran through her hair, watching it billow in the water. He moved the water through it, pulling out the soap, with deft, gentle movements. He lifted her head, making her sit up, and he, still fully dressed, climbed into the tub with her. He lifted one of her hands, as if admiring it, before running a damp cloth over the length of her arm. He did the same with her other arm; this time, pressing his lips to the wet skin at the inside of her wrist. She felt the moan pass her lips, and he looked into her with those beautiful, dangerous grey eyes. He then lifted her foot, bathing and kissing his way up from her ankle to her knee, strangling a gasp from her and she panted with want. She sat forward, grabbing his soaked shirt in her fists, and leaned in to kiss him..._

But she woke instead, with a growl of frustration.

* * *

 

He knew she'd be awake when he went to her quarters the next morning. He walked up the first flight of stairs before knocking. No response.   
"Eliana," he called out, knocking again.  
Still nothing.

He gently opened the door, climbing the stairs to see she wasn't in bed, the doors to her balcony thrown open. He silently moved over to look at her.  
She stood, barefoot and still in her night-shirt, gazing across the mountains into the sunrise. Her pale hair shimmered almost gold in the new light. The bright, aurous rays shinning through her thin shirt gave the perfect silhouette of her figure, and the breeze pulled it tightly against her curves, lifting it slightly to show the moonsilk bottom curve of her _masa..._ and revealing that she still hadn't put on small clothes. He had to fight the overwhelming urge to press her against the banister....

"Da'len?"

She turned, smiling brilliantly, and Solas had to swallow hard to speak again.

"You should be in bed, resting."

"I feel much better though, Hahren, and we don't have time to—"

"Inquisitor?" The Commander's voice. He crossed the floor quickly, but laying eyes on Eliana, dressed less than appropriately, stopped, his mouth agape.

"Commander, I am glad you're here. Please tell the Inquisitor that she should still be in bed, resting."

This apparently brought the man to his senses, as he immediately turned his back to the vision on the balcony, and cleared his throat.

"Ah, Inquisitor, Messere Solas is right. You are ill—"

But she had already walked over to Cullen and grasped his arm, turning him a bright crimson.

"No, Cullen. I am already feeling better. We have to leave for the Western Approach. Our people will be waiting for us, and we _have_  to stop that Blood Ritual."

The Commander looked down into her enchanting eyes and the looked to Solas, who was standing several feet away, arms crossed. While it was rather amusing to watch her twist the soldier around her finger, the Apostate couldn't help but acknowledge the sharp stab of jealousy in his stomach.

"Messere Solas, your opinion?"

"She is obviously doing much better, her fever has broken and she is no longer too weak to stand. I also believe that if we don't agree to her demands, we'll find her having snuck out of her room and her horse gone from the stable, so...."

Solas shrugged at the Commander, fighting the urge to return the wicked little smile Eliana was giving him.

"I'll have your things readied, Inquisitor. But Solas, if _anything_  should happen to her, I will hold you personally responsible."

"I would expect no less, Commander."

Solas locked eyes with Cullen now, each man looking at the other with a palpable contempt.

"Thank you," Eliana said with a smug smile, "Now, if you gentlemen would be so kind, I have to dress."

They both bowed to her before exiting the room in silence.

 

* * *

 

"You  _can't_ be serious."

"Da'len, you are still unwell. And thanks to you, my life now depends on keeping you alive. If you were to pass out and fall off Da'assan, breaking your neck, I will be the one executed. So, yes. You are riding with me until I have determined you are wholly better.“  
  
He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her.

She pouted, climbing onto Fenvir, and he slid into the saddle behind her. The stable hands made sure their packs were full, and she cooed to Da’assan, who was _not_ pleased being used as a pack-mule. Finally, they set off. They’d be lucky to make it to Emprise Du Lion by nightfall. She enthusiastically waved to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen as they exited the gate, blowing them a kiss to see Cullen flush and the irritation flicker across Solas’s face.  
  
“I’m going to make you pay for this, you know,” she murmured lowly, so only the Apostate could hear.  
  
“Do you recall what I told you about teasing me, Da’len?” he purred, breath hot against her ear. “It is unwise.”

 

“So threatening, Hahren, but you have yet to bite me,” she turned her head, glancing up at him from underneath her lashes.  
  
“You’re right, Inquisitor,” he growled, “after this morning, you require a much _elvar_ tunan.”

 

She could hear her own heart palpitating, and, from his quiet snicker, he could, too. So, as soon as she knew no one was paying too much attention, she slid back in the saddle against him, exaggerating the roll of her hips with each step of Fenvir, grinding against him as if she were at Arlathvhen, dancing with Eolas.  
  
“ _Da’len…”_ he warned, voice dangerous.

 

“Yes, Hahren?” She asked innocently, leaning her head back against his shoulder to look at him.  
  
His lips slid down her ear to the space where it met her neck. Her body shivered violently, betraying her.

 

“Ane telir elvara mar'lan, _Halesta._ ”

 

She froze for a moment, terrified.  
  
_Halesta?! …Did Cole—_

“No, Inquisitor,” Cole called over his shoulder quietly, “You did.”  
  
_When did I—_  
  
“When you were first ill. You’re getting better, by the way. You’re shining brighter.” Cole said all of it so only Solas and she could hear. Cassandra, Sera, Dorian, and Bull were far enough ahead, they wouldn’t have been able to hear anything, anyway.  
  
“Thank you, Cole.”  
  
The Spirit-Boy nodded, nudging his mount forward a bit.  
  
“You _manipulated_ me.” Eliana hissed.  
  
He didn’t answer, and they didn’t speak again, even when they stopped for (what little was left of) the night, outside of Verchiel.  
  
  
  
  
Bull and Cassandra made dinner, and Dorian picked her up and placed her on his lap.  
  
  
“Whatever is the matter, my little Orchid?” he asked, cuddling her, “You’ve been quiet all day.”  
  
She shook her head, and nuzzled it under the Altus’ chin as he rocked her back and forth, humming some Tevene song that sounded like a lullaby. She glanced over, seeing Solas watch the two of them behave so intimately.  
  
“Dorian, _mi'durgen_ , would you walk with me a little ways, before dinner?" Catching Solas's eyes glance of suspicion.   
  
“Of course, my vixen,” he smiled, offering his arm as they walked into the woods. After she could no longer see the firelight, she stopped him, and listened hard for a long moment. Sure that they hadn't been followed, she pulled him in close.  
  
“Dorian, I told Solas something when I was sick—something I haven’t told anyone, and I’m…concerned he’s going to use it against me,” she whispered, urgently.  
  
Dorian merely looked at her, waiting, lips pursed.  
  
“My name. It’s Halesta. I took my mother’s name after she passed, for…a lot of reasons. But no one can know. _No one._ Not even Leliana.”  
  
“So, what do we do, darling? Kill him and make it look like an accident?” He suggested, smiling diabolically, and she laughed quietly.  
  
“No, no. I think he’s saving it to use as blackmail. But, should that day come, I may need you.”  
  
“Anything you need, my fawn. Anything, ever.” He kissed her forehead.  
  
“It may be easier to keep him quiet if you fucked him already, you know?” The Tevinter gave her a devilish grin as the approached the camp.  
  
“You think I’m not trying? The man has Iron resolve…” She grinned back, and they only laughed harder as the others looked up at their return, curiously.

 

* * *

 

 

She had been the first to crawl into the tent. Everyone seemed to have assumed she and he would be sharing a tent from now on, though Dorian did shoot him a warning glare.  
  
When he finally entered the tent, she was curled up on her side on top of her bedroll, her hair a tangle of cream silk, and her nightshirt had bunched up around her waist, revealing her gorgeous, moonstone hips, and her plain but delicate small-clothes. They weren’t what could be called _edhrius_ , but somehow the simplicity made them even more enticing.  
  
_Sliding them off with my teeth, biting her inner thigh…_

 

He shook the thoughts from his head, and moved to tug the shirt back down.  
  
Her hand caught his wrist with surprising strength, and unexpectedly sat up straight, looking at him sternly with her amethyst eyes.  
  
He pulled away, but she crawled towards him until he had nowhere else to back himself. She threw her leg over his body and sat, straddling him. She placed each of her hands on his shoulders, restraining him ( _only because I let her…)_. She leaned in close, barely brushing her lips across his jaw to his ear.  
  
“I don’t know what your game is, _Hahren_ , but you are playing with something much more dangerous than you know,” she whispered, headily.  
  
With little effort, he rolled her over, grasping her wrists firmly in one hand and pinning them to the ground beneath them, causing the softest moan to slip from her lips, her body writhing under his own. With his other hand, he gripped her chin, not allowing her to turn her head.  
  
“Then why don’t you explain it to me?” He asked, and before she could answer, “Your secret is safe, da’len.”  


Releasing her, he twisted back onto his own bedroll.

 

Hearing her frustrated huff, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masa: Ass, Butt, Bottom  
> Da’len: Little One, Child  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Elvar: Stern, Hard, Sturdy  
> Tunan: Punishment, Justice  
> Ane telir elvara mar'lan: You are merely making this more difficult for yourself.  
> Mi'durgen: Diamond, Gem  
> Edhrius: Panties, Women’s underwear, specifically lingerie
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen  
> \+ juliaxsnyder & Aislin for being supportive and awesome. <3


	24. Faded (for Her) pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of "All New, Faded for Her"  
> Pt. 2 will be up tonight!
> 
> Sorry it's so short, but  
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> You are all my special little snowflakes! Live the dream!
> 
> Muah! <3 xoxoxox

_She woke up cold. The sun had not yet risen, but Solas was not on his bedroll. She climbed out into the dark. Solas sat in front of a small, rekindled fire. As she silently moved to see his face, she watched as he took a sip of tea from a small cup. She remained standing a few feet away from him, and he shook his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust._

_“Something wrong with your tea?” She asked quietly._

_“It is tea. I detest the stuff,” he said, still facing the fire, not surprised she was there, “But this morning, I need to shake the dreams from my mind.”_  
  
_He turned to look at her, then._  
  
_“I may also need a favor.” His usual pale, steely eyes were now dark and stormy, and his expression showed a weary sadness she hadn’t witness before._

_“But you don’t ever need anything from anyone,” she whispered, and caught herself as she began to cower when he stood and approached her._

_“One of my oldest friends has been captured by Mages. Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.”_  
  
_He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her, (excepting the height difference) though faced opposite, looking into the dark, snow-silenced forest._  
  
_“How did you hear him…her…?” she asked, meekly, confused._

_“—It. A spirit of Wisdom, summoned against its will.” He turned to her again, standing so close, looking down into her eyes with such a tortured gaze…_

_  
“And once freed, will happily return to the Fade.”_

_  
“Summoned? For what purpose?” She furrowed her brow, looking down and away from his tempest stare._

  
_“I do not know. But I fear it will twist the purpose of the Spirit…” His voice was pained, forlorn._  
  
_“Where?”_  
  
_“On the way, actually. The Exalted Plains. We could reach there by late afternoon.” She looked back into his eyes again; he was pleading._  


_“Let’s go release your friend, Hahren”. His eyes widened in surprise briefly, before softening into gratitude and…something that seemed a lot like affection._  


_She had quickly woken the rest of their friends, telling them something in the Plains required immediate attention, and passed out biscuits for them to eat as they rode. Solas was already mounted, and had lifted her with one hand to slide her into the saddle in front of him. They rode hard and fast, their mounts straining to maintain their breakneck pace. She sent Cassandra and the others to the Inquisition camp there, while the two of them moved on. When they finally reached the location Solas had led them to, he had dismounted and run forward without so much as a backwards glance to her._  
  
_“No! My friend!” He had sounded heartbroken at seeing the Pride Demon, but then he had let out a low, feral growl._  
  
_“They’ve corrupted it…What could they have done to turn its purpose?” She was scared, confused, but he was so upset, and she wanted to help him._  
  
_“Let us ask them!” He gestured furiously to a rather pathetic looking Mage, approaching them warily. His attempt at a mustache only accentuated the pudginess of his face, and his Circle robes did nothing to hide his flabby body._  


_“A mage! You’re not with the Bandits? Do you have any Lyrium potions? We’ve run out fighting that demon—“ His voice was annoyingly high, too._

_“You summoned that ‘demon’! Except it was a spirit of wisdom before!” Solas fumed, shaking with rage._  
  
_“I-I know how it could be confusing to someone who has not studied demons—” The idiot prattled on, only to be cut off by Solas._  
  
_“We are not here to help you,” the Apostate hissed._

_“Word of advice, I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here,” she had said to the fool—now she was angry, too._

_  
“Now, listen here, I was one of the Foremost Experts in the Kirkwall Circle—”_

_“_ **Shut. Up.** ” _Solas’s voice was venom. He turned to her._  
  
_“We break the Summoning Circle, no bindings, no forcing it to kill, no demon. Inquisitor, please—“ She held up a gentle hand and he seemed to calm, somewhat._

_“I’ll do everything I can, Solas.”_  
  
_She had broken each Summoning stone, but each one seemed to require more of her magic, more of her mana, than the last. On top of that, the not-Demon was able to approach her more with every broken stone, so she was required to jump and roll to avoid its claws and bolts of lightning. Finally, with the last stone broken, she was gasping for air. She turned to see the wispy, black figure of a woman, her eyes glowing the green of Fade magic. Solas had knelt in front of the Spirit, and Eliana had moved to stand close._  
  
_“Lethallin, ir abelas.” His eyes were full of tears, but none fell._

__  
“Te’abelas, ar shathe, Ar sal em. Ma melava halani, mala suledin nadas. Ghilana mir din'an.”  
Wisdom’s voice had the quality of many voices speaking in harmony. 

_“Ma nuvenin,” Solas had whispered, hovering his hands over her face, and Eliana watched in awe and sorrow as the Spirit turned to ash, eroding away instantly, dancing away in the wind._  


_“Dareth shiral,” he had sobbed, remaining on his knees._

_“I heard what it said. It was right. You did help it,” she tried to comfort him, but she didn’t know how…she wouldn’t try to lay a hand on his shoulder, wouldn’t try to touch him._

_“Now, I must endure,” he murmured to himself, standing._

  
_“Solas, if I can help…” Her voice wavered, but he turned to her, gazing at her gently._  
 _“You already have,” he said, but then his demeanor snapped, “All that remains is **them** …”_  


_He had stamped over to the Circle Mages, ignoring all of their pleas and excuses. She merely averted her eyes, seeing the white-green flash of his magic through her closed eyelids, before turning to see the charred chunks of their bodies dispersed over the dirt._

_“I need some time alone,” was all he said, walking away from her, “I will meet you in the Approach.”_

_And she walked back to the camp by herself, so weak from breaking the barrier stones, dragging her feet and hoping she wouldn’t happen across any fights._  
_Only Cassandra asked where Solas had gone._  
  
_“He just lost a friend. He needed some time alone. He’ll catch up.”_

_Dorian swooped in and lifted her up, cradling her against his chest._  
 _“Your fever is back. You have exhausted yourself, and he left you out there by yourself?” He whispered, but he was furious, indignant. Sera and Bull looked on with wide eyes as Dorian spoon-fed her the stew they had made for dinner. Cole looked at her grimly before disappearing; startling Sera, but she didn’t even complain._  
  
_Dorian and Bull put her in a tent, telling her to get some rest, and now she faded away, gone into the Fade._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Lethallin, ir abelas.: My friend, I am sorry.  
> Te’abelas, ar shathe, Ar sal em: I am not sorry, I am happy. I am myself again.  
> Ma melava halani, mala suledin nadas: You helped me, now you must endure.  
> Ghilana mir din'an: Guide me into death.  
> Ma nuvenin: As you say/wish.  
> Dareth shiral. Safe journey.
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
> and my usual babies <3


	25. Fading (for Her) pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure, unadulterated, smut.  
> Just..complete filth.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope it's tolerable...  
> Thank you for reading!  
> My kinky little darlings <3

She was awake, already. She had walked a mile and a half, barefoot and in her nightgown, to the stream next to where he had lost Wisdom. It was cool, and mist floated over the woods where he stood watching her stand in the stream. She looked so vulnerable in the dark. Cole was right to come get him.

Solas approached her silently, and she jumped a little at his voice.

  
“Inquisitor.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking a few times, as if to make sure she was awake.

 

“Solas! I—H-how are you?” Her voice was gravelly, barely a whisper.

 

“It hurts. It always does. But I will live,” he said, honestly.

 

“I didn’t think you would come back.” She dropped her eyes to the smooth river stones under her feet.  
  
“You did everything you could to help,” he held a hand out to her, “I could hardly abandon you now.”

 

She took his hand, and he guided her out of the stream to the grass where he stood. He held onto her hand, leading her down to the river, towards an old Elvhen ruin.  
  
“Inquisitor, I was…Do you have a moment?” He suddenly felt uncharacteristically nervous. She laughed and looked around.

“Oh, I suppose I have some time before my appointment at dawn,” she joked.  
  
He led her to an old window sill, gesturing for her to sit down.  
  
“I am curious. What were you like before the anchor?” He saw her recoil at this, suspiciously.

  
I mean, has it affected you? Changed you in any way? You mind? Your morals? Your…spirit?”  
  
“I don’t believe so?” She looked away, brows furrowed in thought.  
  
“Ah,” She looked at him then, looking a little hurt.

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since…” he hesitated, “Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade.”

He reached forward, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and was rewarded with a pale pink spreading across her cheeks and ears.

  
“You are not what I expected,” he whispered.

 

“Sorry to disappoint.” She dropped her eyes, nervously and flustered.

 

“It’s not disappointing, it’s—” He stopped short and sighed, grasping her chin in his thumb and forefinger, lifting firmly enough to make her stand, to look into his eyes. The blush on her beautiful moonskin deepened.  
  
“Most people behave predictably. You have shown a subtly in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I had come to expect. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours....Have I misjudged them?”  
  
He was whispering again, pleadingly. Begging for a reason other than her own extraordinary oracularity.

  
“I am…me,” she said, confusedly and somehow ashamedly, “The Dalish—I…I can’t quite bring myself to claim my people as the reason for who I am.”  
  
“You are wise to give yourself that credit, but perhaps the Dalish have had some influence on you, in their way,” he realized he was still making excuses for her. But the look on her face, so rueful, and so disappointed.

“Most people act with so little understanding of the world….But not you.” He said gently, looking into her amaranthine eyes.

  
She looked back at him, searchingly, and he let himself give in. He kissed her.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t know how or why Solas had ended up kissing her, but she was not interested in stopping him. He kissed her softly, and pulled back, his thumb brushing across her lips, and she parted them slightly before opening her eyes to look at him. When their gazes met, she bit at the tip of his thumb, not gently, but not too hard. He growled lowly, sliding his thumb into her mouth, pressing hard against her tongue.

            “Sildela asha'lan,” he breathed, and she sucked the rest of the length of his thumb into her mouth and down her throat, purring as she massaged it with her tongue. He moaned deeply, and she felt the sudden, brutal impact of her back being slammed against the cold stone of the ruins behind them. He pulled his thumb from her mouth and kissed her hard, his hands roughly running down the length of her body. He tugged at the hem of her night shirt and stopped, abruptly pulling back, his eyes searching her face in concern. She looked at him from under her eyelashes.

           

“Ea tundra din'nuvenathe, Hahren,” she teased, and that was all it took.

 

She curled her arms around his neck, running her fingernails up his back. He pushed his tongue past her lips roughly, and she mewled into his mouth. He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, throwing her head back in a gasp of pleasure when he pinned her hips to the wall with his own, grinding against her roughly.

 

Solas snaked his fingers up her thighs, brushing his fingertips against the hem of her small clothes. Her quiet whimpers of arousal stirred him and he moaned into her neck, biting deeply. She gasped, both at the painful pleasure of the bite, and the feeling of his length against her. Eliana turned her head to meet his lips, kissing him hard before biting hard into his lower lip. He growled again, and pulled her off the wall, laying her gently on the grass before roughly grabbing her wrists, once again pinning them above her head. She writhed against him, gasping his name as he pulled her nightshirt up around her shoulders. He dipped his head to nibble at her breasts, tugging hard at her nipples with his teeth, as if in attempt to harden them more than they already were.

He pulled back, looking over her body laid bare for him, as if she were a sacred offering left at his altar. He released her wrists, though she didn’t move them, as he kissed and bit his way down to her hips, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin just inside her hipbones. Another whimper escaped her lips, and he looked up into her eyes with a hunger, a wild and untamed wickedness. She clenched her thighs tightly around his shoulders, and he hissed at her attempt to fight him. He grew more bold, hooking his thumbs under her small-clothes and dragging them down slowly. He chuckled into her thigh at the blush reignited over her face. He forcefully lifted her legs over his shoulders, and began kissing his way up from her knees—

 

“Melena…”He stopped, looking at her apprehensively.

“Ar isala sildeara ma,” she purred, tugging at his tunic.

  
He let her pull off his tunic before he reached back and pulled his shirt over his head with both fists, tossing it aside thoughtlessly. He pulled her up, pulling at her night-shirt and finally removing it entirely, as she fumbled with the laces of his leggings. He brushed her hands away, placing a hand on her chest and lowering her back to the ground, before sliding his pants off in one swift movement. He stilled himself over her, lowering his mouth to her ear. She struggled her hips up against him, groaning with displeasure.

 

 _“Isala gen’av’ahna, Halesta,”_ he demanded, and she moaned.  
_  
“Sathan, Solas,”_ she pleaded, _“Sathan, lasa em sildeara ma sou?”_

 

She implored him over and over, still writhing, and he slid himself against her, hissing when he felt her edhashile. Without warning, he powerfully thrust himself inside her, and she gasped with gratification and brief pain. He pulled himself slowly from her, and eased himself back in with a slow, torturous speed, allowing her to adjust to his size. She growled, digging her nails into his hips; trying to pull him into her more forcefully, but his pace only slowed, and she could feel his wolfish grin on her neck before he bit her again.

 

“ _Vaslasa_ , Solas! _Sathan!_ ” She whimpered, and thankfully, he quickened his tempo with a ferver.  
  
Violently, he drove himself into her wildly, over and over, and soon she could barely call out anymore. But his voice, low and heady in her ear, quickly fixed that.  
 

“Ha'misa sul em, da’len. Tirdana sul em,” he cooed, and before she was aware what was happening, their synchronous peak left her body convulsing beneath his own, violently.  
  
“ _Solas_ …” she whispered, her voice gravelly with pleasure.

  
“Vhenan,” he sighed back, kissing her forehead, and then her lips. She wanted to nod off, just like this, Solas still inside her. But the sky was foreboding the rising sun, and she knew they had to return to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sildela asha'lan: Naughty little woman  
> Ea tundra din'nuvenathe: To be gentle is not necessary  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Melena: Wait  
> Ar isala sildeara ma: I need to feel you  
> Isala gen’av’ahna: I wish to hear you beg  
> Sathan: Please  
> Lasa em sildeara ma sou: Allow me to feel your power/strength  
> Edhashile: tech. term for vaginal wetness  
> Vaslasa vb. to submit, to yield. lit. to allow chains.  
> Ha'misa sul em: Scream for me  
> Tirdana sul em: Bend for/to me  
> Da'len: Little one, child
> 
>  
> 
> I love you all!  
> Muah! <3 xoxoxo


	26. Ma' Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lovely, pointless, infuriating smut :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> Muah! <3 xoxox

When they returned to the camp, Dorian was the only one awake. The olive-skinned Mage eyed him suspiciously, running over to Eliana with a blanket and scooping her up into his arms.

"Where did you go? Your fever is back, what were you thinking? You had me worried sick," the Tevinter chided at her, carrying her back into her tent. Before he could enter, himself, Dorian emerged again, and stood very close to him, eyes barely slits of anger, his voice a whispering hiss.

"You left her out there yesterday alone. You let her exhaust herself  _helping_   _you,_  and she barely made it back here before collapsing. We had gotten her fever down and then she takes off this morning, no doubt looking for you, and you bring her back like this?"

"I brought her back after finding her wading in a stream. She certainly needs more care, you're right; and I did not care for her after she helped me, I was too wrapped up in my own selfish grief. Which is  _why_  I came back. For her, and her alone."

He wanted so badly to shake this man—a descendant of the very people than enslaved his People, his Elvhen—to yell at him that he could not possibly care for the woman in that tent as much as he did. But he couldn't. He had to remain calm, because Dorian was right: it  _was_  his fault. And then had called her  _Vhenan_ , but he was caught up in the moment, in memories, and he didn’t know if it was true.

Dorian had looked taken aback. Solas tried to soften his features, to look pleading, desperate--because, in truth, he was. He didn't know what it was about this Eliana, this  _Halesta_ , but he needed it. He needed  _her_. And if Dorian wouldn't let him see her, then  _she_  wouldn't let him see her. This was her best friend: the guardian of her heart and secrets. He didn't have to like the man, but honey was the best way to attract flies, wasn't it?

"I not make the same mistake twice, Dorian. You have my word."

The man just nodded, letting him pass, and Solas crawled into the tent. She was sitting up, drinking a Lyrium potion, and a healing potion sat next to her. She raised her eyebrows at his look of disapproval before swallowing.

“You were still sick, and you left camp, unattended to go play in a stream.”  
  
“I had woken up, couldn’t fall back to sleep, and needed a walk to clear my head.” He shook his head, frustrated.  
  
“Do you have a death wish? You are constantly putting yourself in dangerous positions—“

 

“Like being close to you?” She raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, he felt like she could see right through him. He sighed and shook his head again, reaching out to touch her forehead, letting his magic slip into her skin and checking her mana.  
  
“I assume you won’t be willing to take a day and rest here?” He handed her the unopened healing potion, his tone flat.

“Not a chance.” She grinned.  
  
“Then you will be riding with me again.” With a stern look, he left the tent.  
  
“She’s going to insist on moving forward.” Dorian looked up at him; he already knew.

 

“Of course.” Both Mages shook their heads in exasperation.

 

Bull emerged from his tent then. He saw Solas, and looked pleasantly surprised.  
  
“Oh, hey, you’re back. Boss’ll be relieved.”  
  
“That’s debatable.” Solas responded flatly.  
  
“So, uh, do we have time for breakfast today?” The Qunari sounded hopeful, giving Dorian a wide, pleading look.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Dorian gestured to the fire he had started, and Bull immediately began digging through their rations.  
  
As soon as the meat was on the griddle, Cassandra and Sera poked their heads out of their tent.  
  
“Is tha’ nug sausage?” Sera piped, enthusiastically.  
  
Bull nodded, smiling, and the two women withdrew, only to reemerge moments later, dressed.  
  
“Solas, you have come back. We are sorry for your loss.” The Seeker was genuine in her response. He wondered what Eliana had told them.  
  
He nodded his gratitude, and picked absentmindedly at a biscuit. Cole popped up by his side, smiling at him.

 

“Thank you, Cole.”  
  
“She needed you. No one else would’ve helped.” It was a whisper, but Solas felt the weight of the words on his soul.  
  
_I’m going to ruin everything, including this girl._

 

“Maybe not. Maybe she’ll save both of you,” Cole simply sighed.  


 

* * *

 

 

Fuss as she might, she really did enjoy riding with Solas. Especially now, when he would brush his lips across her neck or ear, or tighten his arms around her waist, whenever he was sure no one would notice. She knew why he was being shrewd: two elven Mage apostates, one of which is the Inquisitor…drawing too much attention to their relationship—or whatever this was—would be dangerous. Elves were not supposed to hold any power.

_We are the last of the Elvhen. Never again shall we submit._

 

She was wistfully brought back from her musings by the voice of her Wolf in her ear.  
  
“Copper for your thoughts, da’len.” His voice was hot chocolate and heavy cream, fennec fur on bare skin.  
  
“You couldn’t afford them, Hahren,” she grinned, “But I’ll give you a free one: your voice could melt all the snow off the Frostbacks.”

 

“It hasn’t yet,” he purred.  
  
“I don’t think you’re talking to them like you talk to me.” She heard the smile in her own voice.  
  
“Fair point,” he conceded, with a chuckle.  
  
She scooted back in the saddle like she had when they left Skyhold, rolling her hips against his.  
  
“Siljosa, hale'lan'udh,” he growled in her ear, and she giggled; drawing looks from Dorian and Bull, who glanced at each other, sly grins flashing over their faces briefly, before Bull gave Dorian a _look_.

 

“So, Dorian, about the other night in Skyhold...” Bull smirked, causing Dorian to sigh deeply.

 

“Discretion isn't your thing, is it?” Dorian’s tone, flat.

 

“Three times! Also, d’you want your silky underthings back, or did you leave those, like, a token? —Or, wait! Did you ‘forget’ them so you'd have an excuse to come back? You sly dog!”  
  
Bull was booming so loudly, passing peddlers stopped to listen.

“If you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage, I may or may not come,” Dorian hissed, staring daggers.

  
“Speak for yourself.” Bull just laughed and rolled his eye.

 

“So yer beddin’ the Vint!” Sara squealed, and almost fell of Biter, giggling.

 

“Sometimes. Usually it's just against the wall.” Bull shrugged, nonchalantly.

  
Eliana laughed, and Sera looked adorably puzzled.

  
“What's so funny?” she asked, face wrinkled with confusion.

 

“Bull! No!” Dorian reached out to slap the giant Qunari’s shoulder.

 

“Well, She sort of asked,” Bull said, apologetically.

 

“ _After_ you volunteered the information!”

  
“…Ooh! Because you do it standing! Pffttttt!” Sera finally catching on.

 

“I am decidedly uncomfortable,” Solas declared, though she could hear the amusement in his tone, and Eliana laughed even harder.

 

“Moving on…”Cassandra finally sighed, shifting awkwardly in her saddle.

 

Eliana felt Solas nip the back of her neck, causing her to repress another giggle as he chuckled quietly in her ear.

  

* * *

 

 

Their last stop before the dry, arid heat of The Western Approach was outside of Val Firmin, near Lake Celestine. Eliana and Dorian had convinced Cassandra to stay at an inn, since it would be the last chance any of them would get to bathe privately for the foreseeable future.  
  
“You…have a point. Okay, I will go get us rooms. Usual groups of two, two, three?” Cassandra asked quietly, an eyebrow raised and a cunning smirk curling the corners of her mouth.  
  
Dorian and Eliana looked at each other, and Dorian ( _Creators Bless him)_ took the lead.

 

“Well, Eliana is still ill and won’t endure either yours or Sera’s snoring anymore, and I’m not sure any of you want to share a room with Bull and me…”He trailed off, suggestively; allowing all of the implication to land on himself.

 

“Oh, Maker, no!” Cassandra shook her head, as if to wipe an image from her mind, and then went inside. Eliana and Dorian giggled as they led Da’assan, Luxuria, and Cass’s mount, Antonìn, to the stables to unburden them. Solas and Sera were already there, piling rucksacks onto Bull like he was a Bronto, while Cole stood off to the side, trying to get Solas to explain what “bedding someone” meant.

 

“Bull, did you ever end up naming your horse? I know the Qun don’t really do names, but,” Eliana asked, curiously, as she and Dorian tied up their mounts.  
  
“Yeah, Boss,” He grunted as Solas lifted a particularly heavy pack onto his shoulders ( _With surprising ease on the elf’s part), “_ I decided on Asaaranda. It means ‘Thunderstorm’ in Qunlat.”

 

“It suits her.” Eliana nuzzled the Asaarash’s nose before turning to pay the stable hand a handful of sovereigns.  
  
“M’lady, this is too much, I can’t—” the boy started, but she put her hand on his shoulder gently.  
  
“These are particularly _difficult_ horses to handle if you’re not used to them. Accept the payment, and just take good care of our mounts, okay?” She smiled at him sweetly, and he nodded, mouth agape.

 

“Ladybits o’er here jus’ throwin’ away gold like iz nothin’!” Sera rolled her eyes, but gave Eliana an approving giggle.  
  
“It’s mostly so he won’t put down Biter before we leave in the morning,” she jabbed back with a grin.  
  
They helped carry whatever Bull and Solas hadn’t already lifted and clamored into the inn.

 

* * *

 

 

“You can bathe first, if you like, Hahren. I’ll undoubtedly take too long and the water will grow cold.” Eliana spoke casually over her shoulder, as she dug through her rucksack.  
  
“Ma serannas, da’len, but you should go first.” When she started to argue, he merely called her “Inquisitor”, and chuckled as she gathered her things, slipping into the en suite bathroom with a huff. Cassandra had spoiled them, paying for the rooms with individual tubs. They were to meet downstairs for dinner at sundown, and Bull had already taken a detour to chat up some blonde barmaid, to Dorian’s ire.  
When he heard her enter the bath, he reached into her rucksack to grab her leather-bound notebook. It was filled with various sketches of her friends, drawings and notes on herbs, notes from different books she read—and as he flipped through the pages, he found a note, folded in quarters and tucked tightly between two blank pages.

 

 

> _There is precious little we know about Fen’Harel, for they say he did not care for our people. Elgnar’nan and Mythal created the world as we know it, Andruil taught us the Ways of the Hunter, Sylaise and June gave us fire and crafting, but Fen'Harel kept to himself and plotted the betrayal of all the gods. And after the destruction of Arlathan, when the gods could no longer hear our prayers, it is said that Fen'Harel spent centuries in a far corner of the earth, giggling madly and hugging himself in glee._
> 
> _The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are The Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own._
> 
> _And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the Void for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People._
> 
> _—_ From  _The Tale of Fen'Harel's Triumph,_ as told by
> 
> Keeper Gisharel, Ralaferin Clan, 9:25 Dragon
> 
> __________________________________
> 
>   
>  _“Beware the forms of Fen’Harel! The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their Spirits. He will offer advice that seems fair, but turns slowly to poison. Remember the price of treason, and keep in your heart the mercy of your gods.”_
> 
> __________________________________
> 
> _Halesta—_  
>  _Te’dhrua ga era'mana dirthem. Melena sul Felassan. Ar lath ma, em’ esha'lin._
> 
> _—Eliana_

 

 

He felt a shiver to his core. How much did she know? And how did her mother know Felassan?

 

He heard the splash of the water and knew she would be out of her bath soon, so he slipped the paper back in tightly and replaced her book exactly the way she had left it, before picking up a book of his own and silently sitting on one of the two straw beds, opening to a random page and skimming his eyes over it.  
  
He looked up at her as she pulled back the heavy curtain separating the bath from the room. She was draped in a long, thin tunic, cut high on the sides, a lovely deep cardinal, leaving bare a single arm and displaying a simple golden cuff around her upper bicep, and olive linen footwraps. She looked more like a true Elvhan than any elf he had met since the fall of Arlathan. She casually toweled her hair, water drops clinging to the ends her cream-colored ringlets, and she looked up at him as if delightfully surprised to find him there.  
  
“Hahren, I completely forgot where I was! I always promise myself I’ll never take a bath for granted again, but as soon as I’m in one—Oh! I’m so sorry! How long _was_ in there?”  
  
“I’m not sure, but it is no matter, da’len. I was distracted myself,” he lifted his book, indicating.  
  
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she smiled at him as she walked to the door, “I’m going to go find Cass and Dorian.”  
  
He got up and sighed slightly as she shut the door behind her.

 

 _This bath better be cold, or it’s going to take a little longer than it should._  
  


 

* * *

 

 

When she knocked on Dorian’s door, he threw it open with vehemence, as if ready to yell at whomever dared knock. When he saw it was merely her, though, he ran his eyes over the length of her, whistling dramatically as he grabbed her hand, making her twirl for him.  
  
“Look at _you_ , my little kitten! What, or should I say _whom,_ are you so dolled up for?” He raised his eyebrow cheekily.  
  
“Ha! My Keeper sent these robes to me as a gift for my, uh, Ordination as Inquisitor. And since I’ll be spending the next month, _at least,_ with dust and sand in every nook and cranny of my body, I just thought I’d remind myself what it felt like to resemble a woman.”

 

Dorian gave her a face of dubiety, followed quickly by a kiss on the forehead.  
  
“Believe me, my garnet, your femininity has _never_ been questioned, even if your armor sometimes is a little less than flattering.”  
  
“Well then, you and Viv can sketch something up for me, and if I approve, we’ll send it off to Harret and have it stitched up— _if_ I survive this trip.”  
  
“Inquisitor!” Cass was rushing towards her with that clucking mother-hen look, Sera running behind her, giggling like mad.  
  
“Ladybits, shite! You look…. _Woof_!”  
  
“Inquisitor, your...”Cassandra lowered her voice to a whisper as she came to a stop in front of Eliana, “—your _thighs_ are showing!”

 

Sera, Dorian, and Eliana laughed, probably a little too hard, judging from the scoff and severe expression  
  
“Cass, _this,_ ” Eliana gestured to her clothes, “is how _my_ people dress. My clan has been through this area before, and no one looks twice at an _elf_ ’s thighs.”

 

She smiled at the Seeker, but Cass looked genuinely concerned, as if she had offended her Inquisitor in some way.  
  
“O-of course, Inquisitor, I apologize. I often forget how important one’s culture can be to the spirit.”

 

Eliana gave Cassandra an incredulous smile, shaking her head.  
  
“Cassandra, don’t apologize. Let’s go find out what trouble Bull has undoubtedly found himself in….And hope Cole shows up soon before people start forgetting portions of their lives.”

 

She grasped Sera’s hand, and Dorian hooked his own around her waist, and the foursome set off down the stairs to the bar.

 

Bull had, apparently, merely been talking up the barmaid for Sera’s benefit.  
“Hey, Sera, you see the blonde over there? She’s easy on the eyes.” He said, nudging the elf’s elbow.

“Tha one with the ‘uge ditties?” Sera stood up to get a better view.

  
“No! Well, yes, but…” Bull flashed Dorian a contrite glance, “What about the fancy bow on her apron, dangling all long and sassy, so someone could ease it open with one slow pull?”

  
“Uh, yeah, I s’pose?” She squinted her eyes and turned her head to the side.  
  
“You have to see the little details to get the whole person, Sera. There’s a woman behind those tits.” Bull’s voice was patient, but emphatic.

  
“Haha, yah, waaaay behin’!” Sera obviously missed the point.

 

Bull sighed, beaten, but his grin quickly returned with the arrival of the Ale and Antivan wine.

 

“Yeah, anyway, I talked you up, and she’s into you,” he added, tipping back his Flaggon.

 

“Oi, ‘ere comes ol’ droopy-ears.”  
  
Eliana looked up, mid-smile, to see Solas walking down the stairs; standing tall, hands held behind his back, looking around the room casually until his eyes landed on her. His facial expression didn’t quite change, but he tilted his head ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something savage flicker behind his eyes.  
  
She felt her pulse quicken, and in an instant, he was lowering himself gracefully into a chair beside her, elegant fingers reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring himself a small amount. Cole appeared then, too, between Cassandra and Bull, making everyone but Solas and Eliana jump slightly.  
  
“Don’t do that in public,” Cassandra hissed at the Spirit-Boy, who looked perplexed in return.  
  
“Why? They won’t remember,” he stated, normally. She turned to him, then, her face stern.

 

“If you are to fight alongside us, Cole, I expect you to follow orders. The Inquisitor believes you wish to help, but I will not allow you to threaten innocents.”

 

“Yes. Help the hurt, save the small. If I become a demon, cut me down,” the boy nodded.

 

“Do not doubt me. I will do it.” Cassandra squared herself up in her seat. But Cole looked her dead in the eyes.

  
“Good.”

 

“You're... serious, aren't you?” She eyed him, uncertain.

 

“Yes. I hope you are, too,” he remarked plainly.

 

Solas chucked and turned to Sera then. Dorian, Bull, and Cassandra had began a conversation on the finer qualities of enchanted armor.

 

“I heard about your organization, Sera. I am impressed.”

 

“Is thissa trick, egg’ead?”

 

“Hardly. But it is an opportunity,” he shrugged casually, sipping his wine before continuing.  
  
“You have already divided your group's membership. That is wise: no one cell can betray all your secrets. The next step is to establish a cadence. When your enemies pursue, you vanish. When they become relaxed, you harrow them. When they are weak, you strike with zeal.”  
  
Eliana stared at the Apostate with a furrowed brow.

  
“Where d'yah get all this, then?” She scrunched her nose in bafflement.

 

“Do you wish to learn something or not?” He asked simply, his manner urbane.

 

“I dunno. No?” Sera sneered before catching the aforementioned serving girl by the waist as she passed.

 

Solas looked at Eliana, meeting her gaze with intemerate candor as he took another sip of his wine.  
  
“Sulrahn del, da'len?” He inquired, innocently.

 

“Ahn garemah ea del, ma ‘fen?” She fluttered her eyelashes, playfully.  
  
“Mm,” he purred back, just as their food arrived.

 

 

* * *

 

As they all stumbled back up the stairs to their rooms, Solas found himself supporting a slightly inebriated and giggling Eliana, as Sera and Bull—the former of which was thrown over the latter’s shoulder—made various lewd jokes at the top of their voices. While Solas could do without all the cacophony, he had to admit (if only to himself) that he had been enjoying himself. Supporting his da’len, she bid each of her friends goodnight with a kiss and a hug, and he led her to the room at the end of the hall.

The room was inexplicably hot, and Eliana directly released him and staggered over to the closest straw bed, tossing herself face-first into the mattress. He watched as she languidly pulled her hair off of her back; heaping it onto the crown of her head, and leaving her delicate moonsilk neck bare as she fumbled at her wrist, trying to find the leather cord she usually had tied around it. He retrieved it, having earlier seen it lying on the floor next to the tub, and handed it to her, watch as she deftly tied her curls into a loose cascading knot high on her head before lifting her herself onto an elbow to look at him.

 

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she muttered.

 

“Ir'ina'lan'ehn, palasha hale'udh,” he spoke almost without thinking, briefly running his fingers down the top of her spine.  
  
“Leanash, harathe fen,” she murmured back, closing her eyes. He leaned in close to her, dragging his fingernails up the exposed flesh of her bared thigh and nipping lightly at her ear.  
  
“You’ve called me ‘Wolf’ twice now, tonight.” His voice low and lusty in her ear; she turned back to him, her amethyst eyes wide and fearful.  


“Why is that, da’len?” He gently rolled her over to her back and straddled her, pinioning each of her wrists on either side of her head.  
  
“I-I, um, you’ve always just reminded me of a wolf,” she breathed, “c-circling its prey.” He gently brushed his lips against her throat, a deep “Mhm” encouraging her to go on.

 

“So—ah—confident,” she struggled to concentrate, “a-and poised, intelligent, astute…b-but so carefully innocuous.”  
  
“You are afraid of me,” he pulled back allowing himself a quirked eyebrow on his otherwise expressionless face. She nodded, eyes lowered away. But he grasped her chin and turned her face to his.  
  
_“Itha fra em, Halesta,_ ” he growled, and she did, instantly.  
  
“Do you enjoy being afraid?”  
  
“I-I’m used to it….” Her voice barely a whisper.

 

“Ar av’ahnen, _vis neralal ma?_ ” His voice was demanding, and she blushed and lowered her eyes again.  
  
“Da’len?” He insisted, lowering his face to hers, her eyelashes fluttering briefly before meeting his gaze.

 

“Vin, Hahren,” she exhaled, and he grinned wolfishly before rolling away from her; standing and pulling off his tunic in one swift movement. He climbed onto the other bed—Cole had insisted he didn’t need to use the room before disappearing again—and whispered goodnight before extinguishing the candle flame with his fingers.

 

* * *

 

 

Her mind was cloudy from the wine, but she wasn’t able to sleep. Solas’s dominating behavior had…frustrated her.  
  
_To put it lightly._  


Her head was spinning, and the room was _unbearably_ warm. She could feel the sweat trickle down her neck into the vale between her breasts, causing her robes to cling to her body uncomfortably.  
  
  
_Why am I still wearing this?_

 

She sat up, peeling the fabric from her flesh, and unwrapping the linen from her legs. She collapsed back onto the mattress, but the hay of the mattress trapped the heat beneath her.  
  
  
_Fendhis, it is sweltering!_  
  
“Ugh!”  
  
“Eliana.”

 

“Ir abelas, Hahren. I am just baking alive in this heat.”  
  
She heard him move, and in the faint light of the single window, saw his outline as he moved towards her; lying on the mattress beside her. She was suddenly aware of her lack of a blouse—or even a breast-band. Just her naked chest, slick with sweat, and her ratty _u'drius_. He reached out with a feather-light touch, tracing swirls of ice over her sternum, and then, unexpectedly, brushed over a nipple, drawing a gasp from her. As he glided his body onto her own, she felt his mouth move over her neck; his breath cool, and he swirled his ice-cold tongue over every sensitive nerve and vein until she was writhing and squirming under him.  
“Josh a suleth,” he commanded gently, and she rolled onto her stomach, obeying mindlessly.  
He continued drawing flurries of ice down the length of her spine—causing her body to shiver—then back up, over her shoulder blades, across trailing down her neck. As he curled his eddies over her hips and ass, she found herself grinding against the bed, mewling like some wanton, shameless coquette.

And when he finally parted her legs and skimmed over the crux of her need, it was all she could do to whimper her gratitude. She was rewarded with the swift thrust of his cool fingers into her _edhas,_ leaving her panting; tightening in complaint at his withdrawal.  
He flipped her quickly onto her back, and before she could think to object—

  
_Isa av daval ma’ dashalasha, Ajuelan'el!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Siljosa: Behave  
> Hale'lan'udh: Little Vixen/Female fox  
> (-udh: small, cute, pretty, feminine. Akin to the French -ette)  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My gratitude  
> Te’dhrua ga era'mana dirthem: Do not believe all history you’re told.  
> Melena sul Felassan: Wait for Felassan.  
> Ar lath ma, em’ esha'lin: I love you, my child.  
> Sulrahn del: Something wrong?  
> Ahn garemah ea del: What could come to be wrong?  
> Ma’ fen: My Wolf  
> Ir'ina'lan'ehn, palasha hale’udh: Gorgeous, sexy little fox  
> Leanash, harathe fen: Glorious, fearful wolf  
> Itha fra em: Look at me  
> Ar av’ahnen: I asked  
> Vis neralal ma: If it is pleasing to you  
> Vin: Yes  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, I apologize  
> U'drius: Underwear, small-clothes  
> Josh a suleth: Move to your front  
> Edhas: Vagina, pussy  
> Isa av daval ma’ dashalasha: His tongue is licking my clitoris  
> Ajuelan'el: Creators
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the cliffhanger!  
> It's 2 am here, and I couldn't write anymore.  
> I love you all, bbies <3


	27. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boring, non-smutty chapter,   
> but a lil'bit of reveal  
> and a fun, sexy chapter to come next!
> 
> Thank you for reading!   
> Muah! <3 xoxox

When she awoke, she was wrapped in a bed sheet and Solas was, as usual, nowhere to be found.   
  
_Okay, so that's how this is going to be.  
_  
The room was cooler than it had been the night before, but she could still feel the sticky layer of sweat. She walked to the bathroom, grateful for the buckets of room-temperature water that had been left; she refilled the tub and climbed in scrubbing at her skin and hair and she mulled it over.  
  
_I'm just a plaything to him. And he's just a way for me to work out my stress. This way, I can keep him close, keep an eye on him, and I can keep my emotions in check....He is obviously not interested in me romantically—_  
  
She heard a knock at the door to the room, and Dorian's muffled voice.  
"Come in, I'm just in the bath," she called out, and he slipped through the curtain.

"Morning, darling. I brought you breakfast. Was your room like an oven last night too?" He handed her a towel as she stood up.

"Creators, yes. It was unbearable,"

She dried herself quickly and Dorian followed her into the room; sitting on a bed and picking at some of the fruit he had brought her as she dug through her rucksack and began to dress.

"Where's our resident Hobo?" Dorian asked, looking around.

"Don't know," she replied plainly, receiving a quirked eyebrow as she tugged her leggings up.

The door opened, surprising both of them with a start.

" ** _Does no one knock in the Fade?_** " She called out, causing Dorian to double-over in laughter, nearly spilling her breakfast.

"Oh, my apologies, Inquisitor!" Solas closed the door again and his footsteps retreated quickly down the hall.

"Oh, Solas tried to sneak a peek at out Fearless Leader!" Dorian giggling, as Eliana tugged her breast band on.

"Nothing he hasn't already seen," she grumbled, finally pulling her shirt on and fumbling with the vest.

Dorian set down the tray and moved over to her, helping her with the clasps under her breasts, and giving her a sympathetic smile.

_At least I have Dorian._

A knock came this time, and they both called out to come in. Solas walked in, face blank and without blush, but didn't make eye contact, merely gathering his things, bowing slightly, and with a quiet, "Ir abelas," walked back out the door.

Dorian and Eliana looked at each other again and laughed. It was going to be a better day than she had originally thought.

 

Down at the stables, they met the rest of their party, all packing their mounts.

"Mornin', Ladybits." Sera grumbled, pleasantly, despite not being much of a morning person.

"Hey, Boss," Bull tossed over his shoulder filled quickly by Cass's friendly, "Inquisitor."

  
  
Eliana walked around Da'assan, (whom had already been groomed) lifting each hoof, tapping the shoes gently, checking her teeth, and treating her with a sugar lump, before setting the horse's saddle and packs on her.

  
"How d'ya get tha thin' to put up with alla that shite?" Sera stood aside, arms folded, looking on with puzzlement.

  
Eliana smiled, nuzzling Da'assan's muzzle.  
  
"It's a relationship. It requires trust and respect. I treat her well, make sure she's happy and healthy, give her what she needs, and she shares her strength and speed with me. It's a mutual give-and-take."   
  
  
She turned to see all of her companions staring at her in astonishment. Even Solas and Cole were smiling at her.

"What?"

"That was...fuckin' _poetic_ , Boss." Bull's single eye was wide, and Eliana burst into laughter, joined by Dorian, Sera and Cass.

  
  
They led their mounts out of the stables, saddling up. Cassandra took point, and Eliana moved up beside her.  
  
"Inquisitor, it occurs to me that I don't actually know much about you."

  
"Well, Cass, what would you like to know?"

  
This seemed to catch the Seeker off-guard, and she looked at the smiling Eliana with surprise.

  
"I'm... not sure. Where are you from?"

  
"You don't know?"   
  
Eliana figured Leliana would have debriefed everyone on what little she would've found out about her.

  
"I suppose I could ask Leliana, but I thought you would rather I hear it from you." The Seeker gave her a look.

  
"Well, my clan usually wanders the Free Marches."

  
"But, where is home?" Cass looked at her earnestly and Eliana thought for a moment.

  
"Home is wherever I am," she said firmly, turning her head to smile at her friend.

  
"I feel the same," Cassandra smiled back, and with a "AYY!" Eliana nudged Da'assan into a much-needed sprint.

 

* * *

 

Solas watched as Eliana rode off fast on Da'assan, her body laid low, her hips raised off the saddle; flashing images from the night before across his mind, almost drawing a smile to his lips. Iron Bull quickly put an end to that.

  
"You've got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints."  
  
  
Eliana had stopped Da'assan, allowing the rest to catch up. Solas eyes her warily.  
  
"That comes from being self-taught," the guard in his voice now evident, "I discovered most magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade." He shrugged, tone flat.

  
"I've seen self-taught warriors. Even the good ones have something awkward in their style, something that clunks," Bull glanced at the Apostate slyly, pointedly aware of the elf's sudden shift in behavior, "I don't get that from you. Maybe magic is different."

  
"Or, perhaps," Solas all-but hissed, "without magical training, you cannot notice the parts of my magic that 'clunk'."

  
"Mm," Dorian had pulled his mount up on Solas's other side, "Yeah, not too 'clunky' for a _‘self-taught’_ Hedge-Mage."   
  
  
Dorian and Bull shared a look before nudging their mounts ahead.  
  
  
  
  
Cole let the distance between the other spread before he approached the Apostate.  
  


"She knows you read her note." It was all the Spirit-boy allowed him before he, too, urged Thoughts (the Spirit’s horse) past him and towards the rest.

 

* * *

 

Eliana could feel Da'assan's struggle in the dunes. It had only been a few hours since the sand swallowed the pavement, but she could feel the ache in her horse's legs as if they were her own. 

  
"Ir abelas, Da'assan," she leaned forward, whispering to her mare, catching a sidelong glance from Solas before shifting her gaze.

They finally reached the forward camp of the Approach about two hours after sunset. Endless ridges with occasional mirages stretched endlessly on either side of the ravine the camp was settled in. Scout Harding greeted her like a friend she hadn't seen in years; hugging and going on about how she had heard the Inquisitor was ill and was so glad they made it here. Eliana saw the four tents that had been set up for them and, thanking the Creators, gratefully tossed herself into one, telling Sera to wake her when dinner was ready.

  
  
She hadn’t managed to dream at all, but felt slightly more rested when Sera popped her head into the tent.  
  
  
“Oi, Inky, soup ‘s’on.”  
  
  
Eliana realized how cold it had gotten….She had fallen asleep in her full gear, boots and all. Now she grabbed a blanket from her bedroll and crawled out of the canvas shelter, into a beautiful star-speckled sky and peaceful stillness, broken only by the laughter of her companions, all gathered around a fire. She plopped down unceremoniously between Dorian and Bull, tugged both of their arms to pull them closer, stealing their body heat. Bull grinned down at her, handing her the leg of whatever animal they had cooked, as Dorian pecked her cheek.

   
“Rose! Nah, wait… Robin's egg,” Sera blurted out of nowhere.  
 

“Is this another game?” Cassandra eyed the archer wearily, as if she knew where this was going.  
 

“Trying to guess the color of your underpants,” Sera chirped, with a grin that was borderline-evil.  
  


“I don't wear ‘underpants’.” Cass scoffed.  
 

“Pffft! Everyone hear that?” Sera laughed, pulling a chuckle from Dorian and a scandalized “Oooh,” from Bull.   
  
  
Eliana covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep her face straight, allowing herself to shift her attention.   
Quietly, on an adjacent log, Cole and Solas were having a quiet conversation.

  
“She wants a Chantry but it does other things instead.”  
 

“She did not need a Chantry, she needed to remember her faith,” Solas replied, calmly.  
 

“But it also spent time with her. It wanted to fall, feeling,” Cole wondered.  
 

“They are always attracted to the world of the living.”  
 

“Why did it only talk facing one way?”   
  
  
  
Solas let his eyes flit to Eliana’s own before answering.  
  
“We all have a face we want to show, and a face we do not.”  
 

“It's fascinating listening to you two. Like working out a puzzle with only half the pieces.” Dorian was genuinely amused.

“I'm pleased you're enjoying yourself, Dorian.” Solas nodded, only slightly derisively.

  
“Yer both nutters,” Sera chaffed, mouth full of half-chewed meat.  
 

Cole looked at her innocently.

“You want to be the one with the words that wander.”  
 

“True,” Solas smirked.

“Stoppit!” She spat, chunks of food spewing from her mouth.  
  


“Ugh,” Dorian wiped at his face disgustedly, pulling a laugh from Eliana.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor, Ser, a message for you.” They all turned to see the young scout standing at attention behind her with a raven on his shoulder; she rose to face him taking the letters and untying the string holding them together.   
The first had the official symbol of the Inquisition stamped into the wax seal. The second had no mark on the wax, and she discreetly slipped it into her sleeve—only Solas had noticed. She broke the seal of the second, eyes scanning the first page quickly, and, with a small smile—and, Solas caught, the barest, fleeting blush—folding the second page and sliding it into her pocket as she handed the first page to Cassandra.  
  
“What was the other page?” The Seeker raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, just a note from Josephine,” Eliana smiled, flapping her hand dismissively, “Hoping that I am feeling better and something about beginning dance lessons when I get back.”  
  
Cass rolled her eyes and scoffed dramatically.  
  
“I do not pity you, Inquisitor. That woman is merciless when it comes to Court etiquette.”  
  
“I’ll have to write her back and plead for mercy,” Eliana joked.   
  
Solas noticed her pointedly avoiding making eye contact with him, and fiddling almost imperceptibly with the sleeve the note was in, before tightening her blanket around her shoulders. One by one, her friends excused themselves and went to their tents—or, in Cole’s case, vanished—until finally Solas himself was the last to bid her goodnight and slip into his tent.   
  
He peeked through the flap, though, as he watched her sit close to the fire, breaking the seal on the letter she had hidden. She read it quickly, set it on her lap, and then read it again. He re-emerged from his tent under the pretense of forgetting his rucksack, and she, startled, immediately tossed the letter into the fire. 

He stopped and looked at her, a single eyebrow raised in inquiry. She stared back, her jaw set and brave-faced.  
  
“Laleal,” she whispered, low and dangerous, “It’s private. _Personal._ ”  
  
  
He merely nodded, returning to his tent, where Cole sat cross-legged and wide-eyed.  
  
  
  
“The second page. Cullen. The scarf,” the Spirit-boy murmured, quietly.  
  
  
_Damn pretty-boy soldier._  
  
  
“Ah, well. Good for her,” Solas remained expressionless.  
  
“No, it’s not the same feeling as with you.”  
  
  
_Is that good or bad?_  
  
 

“For you, good. Probably.”  
  
He smiled faintly, and once again, Cole evaporated.

 

* * *

 

 

> _Inquisitor—_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you in better health than you left us in. I also hope the scarf ~~I gave you~~ is serving you well—I don’t know why it always slips my mind (on the rare occasions I get an opportunity) to ask you if you like it; I’ve been meaning to for weeks. ~~I really~~ The real reason for this letter is an advance warning: Josephine is already planning your dancing lessons for the Winter Palace. I thought you might like to know so you may plan accordingly.   
>  Best wishes and stay safe. Please. _
> 
> _— ~~Com~~ Cullen_
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Emma lath’in—  
>  Ir abelas sul vallas, y ar telsilem tarsul harth, vir Deshanna, o a tarathe inor min Shemlen harilla'athe._ _Felas'Sa enem in ma' sethenan. Is rya sul'ama sulrahn ma shala, savis dirth'sulan rya gara melahn elana se vhellem. sule melahn'an is sil'dirthemis ma rosa. Ar mi'nas'sal'ina, vhenan._
> 
> _—Laleal_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, my apologies  
> mi'nas'sal'in: the intense feeling of missing something or someone that is deeply important or personal. similar to Brazilian "saudade" Lit. "The knife again in my soul."
> 
>  
> 
> Note from Laleal:
> 
> My Heart/Home—  
> I apologize for writing, but I worried upon hearing, by way of Deshanna, about your elevation inside of this human rebellion. The Slow One appeared inside my dreams. He must impart something to you protect (subtext: for your protection), though the conversation must occur when you both are able to meet. Until then, he advises you to survive. I feel mi'nas'sal'in, my heart/home.  
> —Laleal
> 
>   
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
> and infinite xoxo's to  
>  the sweet juliaxsnyder  
> &  
> THE AMAZING AISLN, WHO MADE ME A FREAKING BEACH CAKE!!!  
> (even though I won't get to eat it, STILL!)


	28. The Western Approach, Pt. 1 (or All Gay Men Hate Livius Erimond)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other Names for this Chapter:  
> -Fade Smut  
> -Flirting with Hawke  
> -Making Solas Jealous,  
> -The Gang Ridicules Livius Erimond
> 
> Take your pick!
> 
>   **HUGE S/O TO AISLN!**  
> [BBY MADE ME A BEACH CAKE!!](http://aisln.deviantart.com/art/Beach-Cake-for-my-favorite-author-612272280)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it's so short:  
> the Adamant Atrocity and the Fade Fieldtrip  
> are probably going to have to be two chapters each,  
> so I'm just doing what I have time for right now.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> You are little my dearest little ducklings <3

 

_She only knew it was a dream because the camp was devoid of scouts, the tents empty of her friends, the fire put out. She was lying on the cool sand next to the spring the camp had been set up next to, but she wasn’t cold. There were more stars in the night sky than she had ever seen in her life…. She heard the sound of movement in water, and turned her head to see Solas, standing hip-deep in the pool._

_His alabaster skin seemed luminous somehow, and she allowed herself to slowly take him in. His broad shoulders and chest on his otherwise lissome frame would look odd if not for his height; his muscles were lightly defined—deceptively so, considering his strength—excepting the exquisite V framing his pelvis. The sharp angles of his face were the only indicia of his veiled danger._

_He lifted his hand, curling a long index finger, and she obeyed, moving towards him once again like a lamb to the slaughter. She wordlessly removed her night-shirt, slipping into the still-warm pool. He moved towards her, and she instinctively backed away into a rock. He didn’t take his silvery eyes off of her as he lifted her chin, bending to kiss her gently. He held her face in one hand, and placed the other at the base of her skull, pressing his lips to hers more firmly, but without the force or intensity she had come to expect. He pulled back, searching her face; for what, she didn’t know. He kissed her once more, lightly, before moving to her neck, leisurely leaving a trail as he moved down to her breasts; cupping, sucking, licking, and kissing each in turn, still so tender._

_She had long-since closed her eyes, allowing her head to fall back, letting out a quiet moan as he moved his lips back against hers and slowly slid two of those long, graceful fingers inside of her. She deliberately began grinding herself against his palm, needy and mewling; her orgasm slowly building as he whispered words unheard into her hair. As she came, she slid her hand down to grasp his edhis, stroking its length and relishing the resulting growl. He lifted up, sliding himself into with one firm thrust. And as he kissed her passionately, rocking his body against her own and bringing her climax after climax before finally peaking, himself—she realized that he hadn’t just fucked her. It had been cosseting, affectionate._  
  
_“Ma serannas, Vhenan,” he whispered into her ear before kissing her once more._

 

* * *

 

She woke with a start in his arms, and he chuckled quietly into her hair.  
  
  
“You—You’re here?” She was confused.  
  
  
“ _Ir abelas, da’len_. I hope you don’t mind. I have learned that I rather prefer sharing a tent with you.” He sat up on an elbow, looking down at her.  
  
“I can leave, of course, if you prefer,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow.  
  
  
“No!—no, I just, um….I was surprised. I didn’t think—”  
  
  
“That I might, perhaps, be particularly fond of you? For more than one or two reasons?” He smirked, but it was in a kind way.  
  
  
  
She eyed him, dubiously; unsure whether or not this was a game of his.  
  
  
“I…don’t know,” she finally sighed.  
  
  
He kissed her forehead lightly and got up, pulling his tunic on his already-dressed body.

“Well, get dressed and think on it, Halevune’udh. The others will be up soon, and we have a long day ahead,” he said sweetly as he left the tent.  
  
  
  
_Just don’t let yourself forget why you’re doing this. You need to know what she knows. You cannot get any more attached than you already have._

* * *

 

 

Eliana dressed in—what Josie referred to as—“Practical desert attire”: a loose, un-dyed linen blouse, sage leggings, and a new coat/vest contrivance that, though leather, breathed quite well. She tried not to think too much about Solas’s behavioral turnabout, smiling instead at the thought of Cullen’s letter. Reminding her of this, she also picked up her scarf and wrapped it as a hood, leaving a little extra bit of fabric to cover her mouth and nose, in case of a dust storm.  
When she emerged from the tent, she got a round of whistles from Bull, Dorian, Sera, and a couple scouts. She pursed her lips, but the quirk at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.  
  
“Don’t you look _exotic_ ,” Dorian grinned, handing her a bowl of porridge as she sat down beside him.  
  
“Oh hush, you.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, digging into her breakfast.  
  
Solas caught her eye with a smile, though it faltered slightly upon the sight of the scarf.

“He’s being…odd.” Since the Apostate was far enough away to be out of earshot, Eliana mumbled into her spoon quietly, so only Dorian would hear.  
The Tevene tilted his chin just slightly in query, but didn’t look at her.

“He’s being…affectionate.” She barely whispered—the words easily drowned out by the gusting wind, but Dorian managed to hear her, and turned in shock to look her in the eye. She elbowed him gently in the ribs and his face returned to it’s normal look of self-adoration and sarcasm.

  
“We’ll discuss it later,” he purred tacitly as he kissed her cheek, but then returned to his normal volume, “You really must get Josephine something fantastic to thank her for this new wardrobe of yours. It’s not really colorful enough for me, but it suits you perfectly and is a huge improvement. Maybe she could order something for Solas too!”

  
He turned to the approaching Solas, pretending to jump in surprise.  
  
“Ah!  Solas. You startled me. You're always so…nondescript,” Dorian smirked.

 

“Please, speak up. I can't hear you over your outfit,” Solas calmly returned the jab as he handed a chuckling Eliana a cup of tea.  
  
“Touché,” Dorian smiled demurely, giving Eliana a glance of approval.

 

  
Shockingly, the Ritual Tower was not too terribly far away in the light of day, which made Eliana slightly uncomfortable; but it wasn’t an enclosed building, and it was the only visible standing structure for miles around, so it would hardly make a quality Venatori headquarters. They dismounted their horses and tied them off a safe distance away from the tower—which, upon closer inspection, crossed a seemingly bottomless chasm. Blackwall, Varric, Vivienne, and Stroud were all visible standing at the entry columns.

 

 

“It’s about time, darling. You certainly kept us waiting,” Vivienne said, fanning herself indifferently, not even bothering to turn and look at them as they approached.

Blackwall rolled his eyes at the Enchanter before nodding his head and smiling at Eliana.

  
“Damn, Madame De Fer, you read that report! Foxlette nearly _died._ Good to see you, Little Bit.” Varric gently punched her arm, and she swatted back at him, playfully.

  
“My Lady Inquisitor! Even more lovely than I remember,” Hawke cooed, stepping from behind Vivienne with a teasing bow, kissing her hand again as she giggled.  
  
Solas growled quietly behind her.

  
“I’m glad you made it, Inquisitor. I fear they’ve already started the ritual.” Stroud bowed to her, glancing nervously at the Ritual tower behind them.

  
“It just always _has_ to be Blood Magic,” Hawke sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically before winking at her, “Let’s stomp these bastards. You take point, I’ll guard your backs.”

As they approached, they could see one Grey Warden being circled by another, obviously a Mage, with a knife, pleading.

 

“No! Please!”  
  
“Warden-Commander Clarel’s orders were clear.” A greasy-looking Venatori Mage stood at the top of the stairs with one hand on his hip, sounding exasperated.  
  
“This is wrong!” the Warden soldier declared, facing him.  
  
“Remember your oath,” the Venatori sighed in annoyance, “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance….In death—”

  
“I’m sorry,” the Warden Mage murmured, having crept up behind his comrade and slit his throat.

  
“Sacrifice!” The Vint cheerfully finished his sentence.  
  
Eliana was already irritated with this guy’s flair for murderous drama. A tingle, like an electric shock, in her left palm appeared as a Rift opened briefly, spewing out a Rage demon before closing again.  
  
“Good! Now bind it, just as I showed you,” he instructed the Warden Mage like a child.

 

He then deigned to recognize their approach.

“Inquisitor! What an unexpected pleasure,” he bowed with theatrical bravado, voice thick with sarcasm, “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”  
  
“You are _no_ Warden.” Stroud stepped forward.

_Thank you, Warden Obvious…_

“But _you_ are,” Erimond sighed, “The one Clariel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”  
  
“You really should refrain from starting sentences with conjugates,” Dorian commented quietly, examining his fingernails for dirt.

 

 

“Wardens!” Stroud appealed to his kinship, “You have been deceived!”

 

“Let’s see what _they_ think about that, shall we? Wardens! Hands UP!”

 

Eliana felt her stomach turn at Livius’s little puppet show.  
  
“Corypheus has taken their minds,” Stroud gasped at her.

  
“Oh, no. They did this to _themselves_. The Calling had them running _everywhere_ for help.”  
  
“Even Tevinter,” Stroud narrowed his eyes as the Mage giggled…girlishly.  
  
“Yes! And since The Calling was my Master’s doing in the first place, we Venatori were prepared.”  
  
“Oh, what a good little dog you are,” Vivienne sarcastically applauded.  
  
  
“ _My_ sympathy gave Clariel a little help figuring out a plan,” He sneered at the Enchanter, “Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill all the Old Gods before they wake.”

  
  
“Oh, yes _, that_ demon army! I was wondering when they would show up; I had nearly forgotten.” Eliana couldn’t resist the urge; this idiot was too ridiculous.

You knew about them, did you? Hmm. Well, then, here you are. Too bad about the binding ritual enslaving the Wardens to my Master. This was merely a test; once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual,” The Venatori shrugged, “the army with conquer Thedas.”

 

“Why would the Wardens try to kill the Old Gods?” Cass shook her head, as if the idea were the most stupid thing she’d ever heard; mostly because it was.

  
“Oh, you know,” Erimond flapped his hand and rolled his eyes, “A Blight happens every time Darkspawn find an Old God and corrupt it into an Archdemon.”

  
He smirked, looking pleased with himself.  
  
“Clariel’s reasoning is, if someone could fight through the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods could corrupted—Poof!” He wiggled his fingers, “No more Blight!”  
  
  
“That’s madness!” _Thank you, Solas…._ “For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make it all worse.”

  
“Well then,” Erimond giggled again, “It’s a good thing I’m taking this demon army off their hands!”

Eliana leaned towards Dorian, her voice a mock-whisper.  
  
“Is he—?”  
  
“Into men? Oh, Maker, yes. He makes the rest of us look ludicrous,” Dorian sighed, shaking his head, and drawing a laugh from Blackwall and Sera.  
  
  
“And you really want to see the world fall to the Blight, just to get to be Corypheus’s Best Bitch? How sad.” Eliana smirked; unable to shake the image of The Elder One feeding Livius dog treats and rubbing his belly.

  
“The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable—not for my Master. It is merely a tool,” Erimond sneered.

  
“ _Somebody’s_ certainly a tool,” Varric remarked, loudly, and their party chuckled for a moment before Eliana turned back to Livius.

 

  
“Thank you, darling, that’s all I needed to know.” She started to reach for her staff.  
  
“Oh, _please,_ ” Erimond lifted his hand, causing the Anchor to crackle, sending shooting pains up her arm and she dropped to her knees. She could somehow _feel_ Solas moving to her side, but someone stopped him.  
  
”My Master’s gratitude when I bring him your head will be—AHH!”

Eliana used Livius’s grandstanding as an opportunity to stand and focus the excess energy of the Anchor into a blast, knocking the Vint to the ground. She felt her companions gather in close behind her, ready to finish off the Scum as he lie on his back.

 

Unfortunately, Erimond managed to summon enough magic to control the Warden Mages.

“Kill them!” He screamed, grasping his side and stumbling away, and before anyone could follow him, all _veredhe_ broke loose as they were quickly surrounded by demons, and possessed Warden Mages.

 

Luckily, with so many Mages in their party—and so many fiery Rage demons attacking them, the ice magic made it quick work, as the warriors and rouges took down the Warden Mages with little effort, but quite a bit of showmanship. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been quick enough to catch up with and stop Livius.

 

  
“They refused to listen to reason,” Hawke tossed his beautiful hair out of his handsome face, “Why am I not surprised?”  
  
“You were correct,” Stroud looked at Hawke, bitterly, “through the Ritual, the Mages are Slaves to Corypheus.”

  
“And the Warden _warriors_ , of course, sacrificed in the ritual. What a waste,” Hawke sighed, shaking his head. He turned to Eliana then.

 

“Looks like Erimond scampered off to Adamant. Stroud and I will scout it out, and meet you back at camp. You’re going to need to get your Commander and soldiers here, fast,” he bowed and kissed her hand again, “Until later, _mon chéri_.”

“Since when does he know enough Orlesian to flirt?” Varric chuckled, shaking his head. He and Solas had sidled up to her as Stroud and Hawke walked off.

  
Solas sniffed loudly in contempt.  
  
“Was that flirting?” She joked, giving Varric an overly-ditzy smile, “Come on, let’s get back to camp. I have at least three ravens to send off.”  
  
She sighed, shaking her head, and they all moved back to camp.

 _I am going to end up doing_ so _much paperwork after this...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edhis: cock  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Vhenan: (my)Heart/home  
> Ir abelas: My apologies  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Halevune’udh: Little Moon-Fox  
> Veredhe: Chaos, mayhem, havoc
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen 
> 
>  
> 
> **& bby Aisln!!**
> 
>  
> 
> [AISLN MADE ME A BEACH CAKE!!](http://aisln.deviantart.com/art/Beach-Cake-for-my-favorite-author-612272280)
> 
>  
> 
> MUAH! <3 xoxoxox


	29. Pride and Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff 'n' stuff.  
> Oh, and some terrible sketches!!
> 
> Forgive the brevity of the chapter!  
> I promise I'll have more soon! I just have to catch up on work...
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, my beloved little baby kittens!  
> All my love <3 xoxox

The past few days had been…frustrating for Solas.

He watched as Hawke flirted shamelessly with Eliana—accompanying her on rides to “let Da’assan stretch her legs”, bringing her dinner whenever she had slipped away to the spring nearby, trying to teach her some Orlesian words; altogether ignoring that she shared a tent with Solas, and always asked him to come along, wherever she went off too. Even now, Solas watched as they sat by the fire, eating their dinner, and Eliana tried to teach Hawke some Elvhen.  
  
“Okay, try ‘flame’. _Avise.”_  
  
“Aveess,” Hawke fumbled, causing her to giggle.

“No, no, you’ve got to let your mouth loosen a little. Let the word speak itself, don’t try to shape it. Again, _avise_.”  
  
  
The tongue of The People sounded so sensual from her mouth, the way her lips formed the words was so _carnal.._.

“Ahvese.” Eliana snickered, patting the man on the arm.  
  
“Close! Much closer.” She was kind and encouraging, and Hawke was infuriating.

“How do I say ‘Beautiful’?” Hawke asked, tucking one of Eliana’s curls behind her ear and causing her to blush.  
  
“Ina'lan'ehn. _”_  
  
“Ena-la-enn,” Hawke’s tone was heady, but the syllables sounded clunky and wrong in his mouth, causing Eliana to erupt in laughter.

“Better give up on this one, Foxlette,” Varric called over, “He’s butchering your language.”

 She laughed and agreed, standing and excusing herself.

  
  
She walked over to where Solas was standing composed, in the shadows near the tents.  
  
“Hahren, where have you been hiding,” she asked, tilting her chin to look up at him.

 

“I’ve been right here, da’len, watching you try to teach that man a tongue his mouth could never master.” He knew his voice was a little too coarse, betraying his disdain for the human Mage.  
  
A look came over her face, something intense and wild. Her eyes glinted faintly, their dusky lavender color seemed to deepen into a plum, and her lips slightly parted. 

“I don’t know that anyone’s mouth could ever truly master it,” her voice low and breathy, “But El’vhen does sound particularly lascivious when you speak it.”  
  
  
He cocked an eyebrow, catching her double-meaning.

“Who is playing games with whom now, _Halevune’udh_?” he purred, “Do you know what happens when you run?”

 

“Ahn gara, Hahren?” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.  
  
“ _Ar ghi'mya ma,_ ” He growled, and her breath caught.  
 

She gave him a wicked smirk before dancing out of his reach; slipping between the tents, and away into the darkness. And he gave chase.

   
 

He ran after her, neither of their footfalls making a sound in the soft sand. They had passed out of the safety of the campsite gully, but she kept running. She climbed up a rocky overhang with swift ease, disappearing from view, and he followed; becoming suddenly aware that he had left his staff back in the tent. He felt a growing sense of dread.

When he reached the top of the ledge, he could see her standing a few strides away, stance wide, prepared to flee again. But two shadows had begun to sneak up behind her, too silent for even Solas to hear. Before he could call out to warn her, she had already turned into a side-step, twisting herself behind one rouge, and covered his mouth as she slit his throat.

As the other rouge swung out a hand to stab at her, she pulled another of her daggers out and jumped—using the man’s his shoulder as footing and his momentum to help propel her over and behind him, turning fast enough to plunge her dagger upwards through the base of his skull.

She turned to him then, not even out of breath; pulling a patch of ragged cloth from her waistband and wiping her face and then blades clean. 

“How did you know they were behind you? Or that they were,” keeping his tone calm, he looked down at the bodies, “Venatori?”

“I could smell them. They smelled of caraway and Silent Plains Piquette,” she shrugged, “It’s a favorite wine with the Venatori. Dorian told me all the ones we’ve fought so far seemed to smell of it. And almost _no one_ cooks with caraway here.”

 

_What are you, Halesta Lavellan?_

“Ghi'myelan’es hron.” He surveyed her, but she looked unsettlingly casual.

“I guess,” she smiled, shrugging, “We’d better get back.”  
  
  
  
“That is probably best.”

 

* * *

 

She knew she had unsettled Solas earlier, and while it brought a small thrill to her, she still somehow felt guilty. She curled her body into his as they lay in their tent, and he absentmindedly traced the lines of her jaw and ear, trailing down to her neck. His fingers moved over the scar there, and he touched each one in turn, as if studying them.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, gently.  
 

She propped herself up on her elbow, and looked at him.

  
“You’ll laugh at me,” she smiled, and could feel herself blushing.  
  
“Doubtful.”  
  
  
“A wolf.”  
  
“A wolf? It must have been very large.” His face was doubtful.  
 

“The largest I’ve ever seen. Galifalon and I were hunting a large, wild Hart; we had been tracking it for days. When we found it, it was squared up, facing this lone black wolf. The wolf was huge, and normally, we would have just let it be. But after two days of following this Hart, I was too determined. We were expected to bring home meat—supplies at camp were low—and this single Hart would have lasted us a week. Gal tried to stop me, but I wasn’t going to let the wolf have _our_ prize. I was too prideful.  
"So I loosed my arrow, striking the wolf in the shoulder. If the beast had been smaller, it would have been enough to take him down. Gal had already shot his arrow through the Hart’s neck, and it only made it a few strides before it fell; but the wolf had already turned to me. It leaped and landed on me, its weight easily pinning me by my shoulders. I turned my head and tried for my dagger, but it was on my calf, and I couldn’t move enough to reach it. The wolf clamped down hard on my throat; I couldn’t breathe,” she paused slightly, remembering, “But then, the strangest thing happened….”

   
Solas quirked an eyebrow, inquiringly.  
 

“Gal walked around to us, an arrow drawn, and looked the wolf right in the eyes. ‘Fen'Harel ma ghilana,’ he said. And the wolf let go and ran off. I was bleeding, but not badly; the teeth had missed any major blood vessels. We even managed to secure the Hart and bring it back to camp.”

 

“Your brother talked to the wolf, and it let you go.” Solas looked at her, amused.  
  
“I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. I asked him later what he had been thinking. He just said, ‘I’m not sure. But even the wild beasts fear the Dread Wolf.’ I think that had to be something he picked up from our mother.”

   
She laughed, laying back down on her back.  
  
  
  
“So now, I’m forever disfigured by my pride.”

 

Solas rolled on top of her, pressing his lips to the scars.  
  
  
“Ar itha’la palasha,” he growled before biting down hard.  
  
  
“Says _Solas_ ,” she laughed, and then quietly moaned her pleasure.

 

* * *

  

   
_F—_

_Ar nuven'in sastrahn ma' eolasal o Halesta Lavellan.  
                                                            —F’H_

* * *

 

“Okay, first, I think our best plan will be to take up a position closer to Adamant,” Cullen was talented at stratagem, but at the moment he was just pointing out the obvious.

 

He and Leliana had arrived at dawn with a small army ahead of the rest of the soldiers; and though Eliana was admittedly happy to see them, she had to admit to herself that been having entirely too much fun in the Western Approach. She had ridden Da’assan fast and hard, she had taken down Venatori camps with her friends, and they had delved into ancient Dwarven subterranean ruins. She just was not entirely pleased with spending the next five days planning a siege, before she faced her probable death at the hands of a demon army.  
  
  
“I suggest we take Griffon Wing Keep, where the Venatori are based. My people can enter through the cave on the south side,” Leliana proposed, spreading out a plan of the Keep, “The cave contains a well, and they can climb up the pail rope into the courtyard without alarming the guards.”

  
Cullen considered it, but argued that they had enough troops to storm the gate.

  
“How about this,” Eliana piped up, “I take a team through the cave and up the rope, and _distract_ the guards while you send your men in through the gate. That will force them to divide their attention and should then be easier to control.”

Leliana beamed at her, and Cullen let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth.  
  
 

“You don’t need to endanger yourself, Inquisitor,” He was ever protective.  
  
  
“Like you could stop me,” she smiled at him, “And anyway, I’ll take Cassandra, Solas, Sera, Dorian, and some of Leliana’s people. I’ll be _surrounded_ by safety. I’d take Bull and Blackwall too, but I doubt they’d be able to crawl up the well without getting stuck.”  
  
  
They agreed, and spent the rest of the day mapping out the best methods of grouping the soldiers once inside the gate.

 

Eliana wandered off to pick at the sparse leftovers from lunch.  
  
“Clever little Apricot,” Dorian cooed, sitting down beside her and kissing her cheek.

 

“Let’s hope I’m as lucky as I am clever when we get to Adamant,” she grinned, biting into a biscuit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Avise: flame  
> Ina'lan'ehn: Beautiful  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Ahn gara: What happens  
> Havelune’udh: Little Moon-Fox  
> Ar ghi'mya ma: I hunt you, I chase you  
> Ghi'myelan’es hron: Hunter’s nose  
> Fen'Harel ma ghilana: The Dread Wolf guides you  
> Ar itha’la palasha: I view them as sexy  
> Solas: Pride  
> Ar rya rajathe sastrahn ma' eolasal o:  
> I must order any knowledge you have about
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
>  
> 
> Muah! <3


	30. Chess and Griffon Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's all short and mostly battle-crap.  
> I'm writers-blocking really badly :(
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading,  
> my darling little angels <3
> 
> xoxox

Eliana wandered around looking for Dorian. She had spent a while riding Da’assan around with Solas—but now he wanted to sleep in some ruin and try to find some Spirits, and Eliana was thinking too much to stand being alone. She finally found her darling, mustachioed best friend playing chess with, to her surprise, Cullen.

 

“Gloat all you like, I have this one,” Cullen said, sitting back on the barrel he had pulled up to sit on.

 

“Are you _sassing_ me, Commander?” Dorian smirked, moving one of his pieces, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

 

“Why do I even—Inquisitor!” Cullen moved to stand, suddenly looking nervous.

 

She had approached, arms crossed and smiling.

 

“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Dorian smirked, raising an eyebrow and flashing a wink at Eliana.

 

“You _brought_ a chess board? A true enthusiast,” She teased, causing Cullen to blush, “Are you two playing nice?”  
  
“I’m _always_ nice,” Dorian cooed, then turned back to the Commander.  
  
“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

 

“Really?” Cullen moved one last piece before leaning back again, crossing his arms with an amused chuckled, “Because I just won, and I feel _fine._ ”  
  
“Don’t get smug, darling,” Dorian said, getting up, “There will be no living with you.”  


“Have fun,” he whispered, kissing Eliana on the cheek before calling over his shoulder, “I have, _ahem_ , work to do.”

  
“I should return to my duties, as well…” Cullen started, before glancing down at the board, and back up to her, “Unless you would care for a game?”

 

“Prepare the board, Commander,” she grinned and gestured, hopping onto the barrel opposite him.

 

“As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won—which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…”  
  
“I can’t even imagine the glory of that victory. I think that is the most I’ve ever heard you say in one breath!” She smiled as she moved one of her pieces, as he flushed again.  
  
She was terrible at this game, but it was better than dwelling on Adamant, or even Griffon Wing, tomorrow.  


“Between serving with the Templars and now the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays,” He seemed to snap out of his nervous rambling, “Ah, it’s my turn.”

 

“Alright,” she gestured to the board, “Let’s see what you’ve got, Cullen.”

 

He grinned, moving a piece.

 

“Have you heard any word from your brother?”

 

“Ah. Um, no. That’s really my fault. I should write him,” She pursed her lips, feeling guilty, and took her turn.  
  
“What is he like?” Cullen asked, taking the piece she had just moved.

 

“He’s extremely intelligent, a natural hunter. He’s tall, like you. He is so funny, but his humor is so dry, and he keeps such a straight face, sometimes it’s impossible to tell when he’s joking. He wears his hair cut close to his head, which isn’t common for Dalish men. He has the most pale blue eyes you’ve ever seen. And his Vallas’lin, of course, the marks of Andruil, the Dalish goddess of the Hunt.”  
  
She moved, taking one of his pieces in turn.

 

“Valla-sil-in….Those are the tattoos on your face?” She laughed gently as he mispronounced the word.

 

“It’s ‘ _Valla-slyn’_ , and yes, the face markings.” She took another of his pieces.  
  
“What god is yours?” He moved again, looking up at her with an expression she couldn’t name.

 

“Mythal, the Protector and All-Mother. She’s the Dalish goddess of love, motherhood and justice. Honestly, I only chose it because of my mother, and it was the smallest of the gods’ markings.” She shrugged.

 

“You don’t like them?” He looked at her, confused.  
  
“No, I don’t mind them at all. I just—I don’t know. I don’t have a faith,” she admitted, looking ashamed.

 

Luckily, Cullen took the hint, moving another of his pieces.

 

“You know, this may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition…or related matters,” He smiled at her, “To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”

 

“Well, we should do this more often,” she was enthusiastic, surprising even herself. She moved a piece.

 

“Would you not prefer to play against Solas?” He didn’t look at her as he asked.  
  
“Oh, certainly—” She looked at his disappointed expression indignantly, before breaking into a smile, “If I never wanted a chance to win.”

 

He laughed, and moved another piece before looking at her shyly as she took her turn.

 

“So, about Dorian…”  
  
“Seriously?” He blushed again, ashamed, “Do you really not know?”  
  
“Know what? I just mean, you two are so close.”  
  
“Because we got through Redcliffe together!” She covered her eyes with her hand, “Dorian likes _men_ , Cullen.”

 

“Dor—Men. That…makes a lot more sense.” He laughed with her before looking at the board.

  
“I believe this one is yours. Well played.”

 

“See? _This_ is why I wouldn’t play with Solas. He would _never_ let me win.”  
  
“I didn’t let you win!” The Commander looked at her, appalled.

 

“Oh, please, _Commander,_ ” she purred, “I am _terrible_ at chess, and we both know it.”

 

He blushed again and she giggled as she walked off to Bull and Dorian, canoodling on a nearby log.

 

* * *

 

“So, you and the Inquisitor are a thing?”

 

Eliana and a scout were at the front of the group, and somehow, Solas had ended up in the back. With Hawke.

 

“That depends on what you mean by ‘thing’.” Solas didn’t turn around to answer, just kept the dim light from his staff glowing as the small group wound their way into the small tunnel.

 

“You _know_ what I mean.”  
  
“I do, but I believe that question is for her to answer. It is not my place to talk about her personal life.” Solas was already annoyed with the Champion, and this was not helping.  
  
“So, that’s a yes.”

 

Solas rolled his eyes and didn’t answer. They had reached the entrance to the well at the front, and Eliana had begun to argue with Cassandra and a scout about who should climb up first.  
  
“Why even bring me anywhere if you’re just constantly worried about protecting me, Cass? Why not keep me locked up at Skyhold?”  
  
“Because you would just sneak out,” the Seeker joked, but Eliana just pouted.  
  
“I will go up first, and then you and the rest can follow,” Solas interjected, and his Da’len nodded, placated.  
  
“I will agree to that.” Cassandra approved too, and Solas caught Hawke standing behind Eliana, smirking and nodding.  
  
Solas sighed and de-illuminated his staff and tossed it onto his back, jumping high and grabbing the rope of the water pail. Hand over hand, he made it to the top surprisingly fast, climbing out of the well and ducking slightly behind it. Eliana made it up behind him even faster than he expected, and he pulled her down, moving them swiftly and silently to hide behind some boxes of rations. When a scout popped up, he signed to them, and they moved behind another box of rations nearby when Dorian followed him up. Then Sera, another scout, and, finally Cassandra and Hawke. Their main objective was to get to the top of the stairs before they drew attention to themselves, so the guards in the courtyard would be away from the gate when Cullen and Bull came crashing through with Varric, Blackwall, Vivienne, and the other soldiers. Cassandra, Sera, Dorian, and one scout took the set of stairs on the left, while Solas, Eliana, Hawke, and the other scout took the stairs on the right, which were farther away.  
Eliana went first, soundless and fleet-footed, and Solas stayed near her. She had gotten much better at using her staff, but her first impulse was always to reach for her daggers. Luckily, on their way up the stairs, this came in handy—she slipped behind a Spellbinder walking up ahead of them and slit his throat silently, slipping him to the ground. They managed to make it to the top and signal to the other group at the far-end of the battlement before any Venatori took notice.  
  
Eliana addressed the archers first, putting away her daggers and removing her staff. She twisted away from Solas, twirling her staff before using her favorite spell to electrocute all four and one swordsman. This, of course, resulted in a lot of yelling from other Venatori, drawing the attention of the rest on the lower levels. Solas flung a fireball at the swordsman, who had recovered, melting his armor into his flesh. He watched as Eliana slammed her staff into the ground again, freezing the closest archer, and then using it to pull herself up into a high kick, shattering the man into pieces.  
Solas heard more yelling as their soldiers breached the gate, distracting any remaining Ventatori away from them. Hawke had run at a very large Vint with a battle-axe, and seemed to be managing on his own, so Solas addressed the farthest archer, Fade-stepping to just behind him. He had his arrow strung, and was aiming for Eliana’s dance-like form, as Solas used the blade at the butt of his stave to mimic her move from the other night, thrusting upwards through the base of the skull. Eliana had already taken down the third archer with a slash through the gut, when the final archer loosed his arrow, catching her just between her spine and shoulder blade.

She turned to the man, ripping the bow from his hands, and used the blade imbedded in in the arms to slice the man’s head off in a surprising show of strength before she fell to the ground, face-first. Cassandra, Sera, and Dorian, finishing off their last opponent, looked over to see her, just as Solas Fade-stepped to her. He snapped off the fletching, and rolled her over, but she had already passed out. He checked her pulse, and it was still strong. A roar of victory below told him the Keep was theirs.  
After finding a room with cots and having Cassandra search the room for any Vints left hiding, Solas laid Eliana down on her side. She wasn’t bleeding too badly, and as the Seeker eschewed the others from the room, Dorian helped him remove her vest and shirt. Luckily, the arrow had only pierced through a rib-bone before stopping; having lost momentum thanks to the thick quality of the leather vest. Solas had Dorian hold her up as he removed her breast-band and rolled her onto her stomach.

“I have to pull out the arrow now,” he said, and Dorian nodded grimly with a flinch. He gripped the shaft firmly before yanking hard, and the pain was enough to wake Eliana into screaming. Dorian stroked her hair, whispering quietly to calm her as Solas discarded the arrow and pressed his magic into the wound. The rib had been shattered where the arrow had passed through it, so magic was only going to heal so much. Dorian held her up again as Solas wrapped a bandage around her chest, and they laid her back down.

  
“Ma serannas, Hahren,” was all she managed to whisper before she passed out again.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vallas’lin: designs written in blood upon the face or body of the Dalish, used to denote the god within the elven pantheon that they have chosen as their patron.
> 
> Da’len: Little one.  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Hahren: Elder
> 
>  
> 
> Muah! <3


	31. Ar Lath Ma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, but smutty and pivotal chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!   
> Muah! <3

Eliana woke up screaming bloody murder.   
  
“Shh, you’re okay. I’ve got you.”   
  
If it had been anyone else but Dorian, she would have punched them in the mouth, but since it was him.  


“ _Fendhis,_ what the fuck happened?”

 

“You got shot. The arrow shattered a small section of one of your ribs.”  
  
“That archer between Solas and me? Solas should have had him!”  
  
_I know better than to leave an archer unchecked!  
  
_ “It just happened to fast, Elie. It’s not his fault.”  
  
“The fuck it isn’t! Damn Wolf, I should’ve known better than to trust _him_ at my back.” She tried to sit up on the cot, and screamed again.  
  
“You really should just rest for a while. You’ve got a couple more healing sessions to go…” Her best friend looked at her worriedly.  
  
“No, help me stand up.”   
  
“My peach,” Dorian pleaded, “Just don’t do this in front of everyone.”  
  
“Okay, alright. Fine. I’m fine.”   
  
She managed to get on her feet just as Solas came through the door.  
  
“ _You.”_  
  
“Da’len, lie back down.” It was an order, and, for some reason, her body obeyed, even as she yelled at him.  
  
“You _want_ me dead, don’t you?”  
  
Dorian kissed her forehead before slipping out of the room.   
  
“Roll over, I need to check the healing. You were fighting one archer at a time at close range, and you’re blaming _me_.”  
  
“I never should have trusted you to have my back,” she mumbled as he unwrapped the bandage from around her chest.  
  
“I have it now, do I not?” He pressed his magic into the wound, helping the bone to quicken its regrowth.  
  
“Yeah, heal it up so you can stab me in it again,” she hissed.  
  
That seemed to snap something in him. He grabbed her shoulder forcefully and pulled her to face him. His eyes were fierce and stormy, and it made her shudder a little. She reached for the dagger at her thigh, but he pulled it from her hand, and held it near her throat, not quite touching the skin. She felt her eyes grow wide.

 

“ _If I wanted you dead,”_ he growled, _“you wouldn’t have made it this far._ ”

 

He tossed the blade across the room, causing it to clink against the stone, and tangled her hair in his hand fiercely, pulling her face up to his own and looking her in the eye. She gasped lightly, but didn’t scream or call out.  
  
And then he kissed her hard—not just with need and hunger, but passion. And she found herself kissing back; pulling his head towards her own, running her nails down his neck, tugging at his tunic and then the laces at his shirt. He pulled his mouth away briefly to pull his shirt off, and then his lips were back on hers, his teeth scraping at her bottom lip, drawing blood. She opened her mouth and he swallowed her moan, flicking his tongue to lap at the blood beading on her lip. She had pulled him on top of her, and was writhing under him, desperately. He pulled her hair, causing her to arch her back, before bending down to nip at her breasts. She heard herself moaning his name as he bit and sucked at her delicate flesh.

He deftly untied the laces of her leggings, sliding them down, his mouth never leaving her skin. He licked and nibbled his way down to her hips, and she said his name like a chant, a prayer. Finding her already wet for him, he shoved two fingers inside her with merciless force, causing her moaning to deepen. She felt his tongue lave against her clit, the pressure growing in intensity with every stroke of his fingers and motion of his mouth. She came completely undone for him, begging in el’vhen.

 

“ _Shem'el, Hahren, ma’ Solas, shem'el, sathan!”_

As he obliged, her orgasm came in violent, rolling waves. She was still trembling when he crawled back up to kiss her; moaning at the taste of herself on his lips. She ran her hands down his chest, hard as marble, and fumbled with the laces of his pants. He growled into her ear before biting her neck, as she finally pushed them down. He rolled her, pulling her on top of him, and slid himself inside her. She rocked her hips against his own, fast and roughly, cumming again in mere moments. He never took his eyes off of her, moaning and grunting as she rode him; lifting her hips just slightly before slamming them down again, tossing her head back and gasping as another wave of pleasure shook her body—and just then, he erupted into her, forcing her hips down hard against his own.  
  
She collapsed onto him, chest heaving, gasping for breath. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her against him.  
  
“Well, now I have to repair all the damage we’ve done to your back,” he said, irksomely, but she thought she heard a smile in his voice.  
  
As he shifted her out from under him, dressed himself—and helping her re-dress—he gently rolled her onto her side again, and as soon as she felt her fingers press his magic into her skin, she allowed herself to fall asleep.

* * *

 

She was quickly recovering, but other than healing her, Solas was keeping his distance. Hawke had taken her on a ride with Da’assan—just around the perimeter of the Keep a few times. She had played chess with the Commander. And currently, she had locked herself in her room with Dorian.

The rest of their soldiers had arrived two days ago, and the trebuchets with them. He walked down to the courtyard, finding dinner had been prepared—a virtual feast—and Sera and Bull had already broken into the ale. Varric stood nearby, jotting down what appeared to be notes. Solas approached him, making his presence known before speaking.  
   
“I have heard your books are very popular, Master Tethras.”

 

“I do all right,” the dwarf muttered, not looking up.

 

“I am glad of it.” Varric looked up, then, doubtful surprise across his face.

 

“Really? No sarcasm, no superior attitude?”

 

“We live in a dark and angry time, child of Stone. So much of what people believe has come crashing down,” Solas smiled at him, “If you bring them a little peace with the worlds you make between the pages, you have done more than most.”

 

“Not more than Little Bit. She’s scared, you know,” Varric looked him in the eyes.  
  
“Scared? Eliana? Of what?” Solas hadn’t witnessed much fear from her, ever.

 

“Adamant. Demon army. Never seeing her brother again, pick one,” Varric shrugged, “I think she feels alone.”

 

“The Inquisitor is never alone.” Varric gave him a look.  
  
“You can be surrounded by loved ones and still not feel loved,” The dwarf said, pointedly.  
  
Solas bowed, then, and walked on, Varric’s words weighing heavily on him. He approached her room again, just as Dorian was slipping out. Solas could hear her crying….

 

“Now may not be the best time, Solas,” Dorian looked at him worriedly.  
  
“I have something to say that she needs to hear,” Solas spoke gently.   
  
“Just, please don’t make it any worse.” The Tevinter walked away.

 

* * *

 

 

When he walked in, Eliana scrambled to wipe her face. How could Dorian let him in? The last person she wanted to see her like this.

He silently sat beside her on the cot, and took his hand in hers.  
  
“You are the most unique, fearless individual I have ever known,” he said quietly, and she felt her tears welling up again.  


He gently held her chin and looked into her eyes.

  
“You will not be alone at Adamant. I will be right beside you. No matter what comes.”

 

He moved to get up, but she held fast to his hand.  


“Don’t go,” She pleaded, and he hesitated.

 

“It would be kinder in the long run…But losing you would—”  
  
He was suddenly kissing her, and though intense, it was full of something more, something deeper. He pulled away, but wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her neck.

 

“ _Ar lath ma, Vhenan,”_ he whispered into her hair, and she tilted her chin up to look at him, dazed.

 

“Ar lath ma.” He said it again, looking right into her eyes.   
  
She felt her chest swell with a feeling she hadn’t felt before.

 

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she breathed, and he kissed her lips again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da’len: Little One  
> Shem'el: Faster, More intense  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Sathan: Please (asking, begging)  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart
> 
>  
> 
> xoxoxoxox


	32. Western Approach pt. 2 (Or Demon Army vs. Fade-Tripping)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attack on Adamant Fortress &  
> Solas, Bull, Eliana, Hawke, Varric, & Stroud  
> all fall into the Fade.
> 
>  
> 
> Solas P.O.V. the entire time.  
>  **(btw: Trespasser Spoilers from here on out)**
> 
>  
> 
> I just lost three family member in two days,  
> so please forgive me if my updates are a little slower than usual.
> 
> Thank you for reading &  
> all my love <3 Muah!!

Though the siege had begun at sunrise, it had taken until sunset to get the main gate down. Solas watched as Eliana led them in; striding in as a leader, as a goddess of war. Her hair was braided back, and she kept her staff in one hand, rolling it around a wrist. They quickly moved through the demons and possessed Wardens at the front gate; she never once showed any of the fear he knew she was holding back. The Commander ran in behind them.

“Alright, Inquisitor. You have your way through: best make use of it. We’ll keep the main host of demons off of you for as long as we can.”  
  
“I’ll be fine. Just keep the men safe,” she spoke sternly, with confidence.  
  
“We’ll do what we have to, Inquisitor. Warden Stroud will guard your back. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements,” The Commander hesitated slightly before whispering, “Be safe, Eliana.”

 

She nodded and turned, splitting her companions into two groups, sending one unit up one side of the battlements while she and then other went up the other. She alone made quick work of anything in her way, jumping over hurdles, plunging her dagger through the neck of a possessed warden whilst freezing a demon with the staff in her other hand. They made it through to Hawke in remarkable time.

 

“My Lady Inquisitor! Never let it be said that you are anything but remarkable in your appearance.”

 

“Save the flirting for when our men our in less danger, Hawke, dear?” Vivienne piped up, the second group appearing behind them.

 

Eliana laughed sharply, smearing blood across her cheek with the back of a hand, before gesturing them all to follow her. They passed by a quivering group of Wardens, not yet possessed or sacrificed, and she told them to run, that she would not kill those who wanted nothing more to do with this. They thanked her before fleeing, and she continued on.  
  
“We need to get into the main courtyard before they finish that ritual,” she called out over her shoulder, and Stroud pointed to a set of giant metal doors.

 

“Wardens! We are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!” Clariel was standing on a terrace above a half-opened Rift, pontificating to the few Wardens that remained.  
  
“The Inquisition is inside, Clarel; we have no time to stand on ceremony,” Erimond, of course, was standing beside the Warden Commander, hissing into her ear.

 

“These men and women are giving their _lives_ , Magister. That might mean little in Tevinter, but for the Wardens, it is a sacred duty,” Clariel turned to a man who approached from behind her.  
  
“It has been many long years, my friend.” He slowly knelt and then rose again, moving to stand in front of her.  
  
“Too many. If my sword-arm can no longer serve the Warden, then my blood will have to do.”

 

“It will,” she said regretfully, slicing open his throat and letting his body fall forward onto the stone tiles.

 

Eliana moved forward then, and Livius finally saw them.

 

“Stop them! We must complete the Ritual!” Eliana raised a hand to stop her friends from following her forward. Solas fought the urge to disobey and place himself between the Wardens and his Vhenan.

 

“I’m sure you can’t wait for Clariel to do that. How else are you going to bind her?” Eliana called out, sardonically.

 

“Yes, Inquisitor, I want to bind Warden Clariel to a demon! Everyone in this room already knows that.” Erimond rolled his eyes, as Eliana looked to check her fingernails.  
  
“So, she knows you’re really binding her to Corypheus?” A round of gasps from the remaining Wardens could be heard.  
  
“Corypheus?” Clariel looked confused, “But he’s…dead.”  
  
“Listen to me. I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I spared those I could. You’re being used…” Eliana’s voice rose loudly as she looked around, “And some of you know it.”

“My master thought you might show up, Inquisitor! So he sent me this to welcome you.” Erimond sneered as he tapped his stave against the pave stones, and a loud, unmistakable screech filled the air.  
  
“Oh, if it isn’t my favorite Archdemon,” Eliana’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she spoke under her breath.

 

Clariel looked at Erimond, and then at the dragon, sending a bolt of lighting at the former.

 

“Clariel…wait…” Livius, sprawled upon the ground, knew what she was about to do, and clamored to his feet, running away as she sent another bolt at the dragon.  
  
“Help the Inquisitor!” Clariel shouted over her shoulder as she moved to chase after the Magister.

 

Eliana called out, “Assist the Wardens,” and took off after them; only Solas, Bull, Varric, Stroud, and Hawke thinking to chase after her. Eliana was running at her full speed, and even Solas was struggling to keep up; they jumped over banisters and dodged dragon-fire, allowing the few that followed to fight the handful of demons spread along the path. Eliana stopped only for a moment, singed by fire from the Archdemon, and pulled out a healing poultice before Solas could lay his fingers on the burn. She grabbed his hand and pulled him, keeping on their course. Finally, she slid around a corner to see Erimond cornered by Clariel on the crumbling remains of a terrace.

 

“You destroyed the Grey Wardens!” She hissed, absorbing the magic he threw at her and tossing it straight back at him, once again, leaving him prostrate on his back.

 

“You did that yourself, you stupid bitch,” He snapped back, looking past her with a repulsive grin, just as the Archdemon snapped her up, landing on the next battlement, before tossing her body back in front of them.  
  
The Dragon moved to land on top of her, crawling towards Eliana, even as Solas moved to stand in front of her…but in the distance, Clariel’s weak voice could be heard chanting the vows of the Grey Wardens—and with the last of her strength and magic, she shot a bolt through the stomach of the Archdemon, causing it to fall forward and passed them. Its weight pulled apart the already-crumbling precipice, and as it fell, the group turned and began to run.  
  
Solas looked back to see Eliana had stopped to grab Stroud just as he began to fall, and without thinking, he too ran back to grab her hand—but too late, they were falling into the seemingly endless crevasse below, until Eliana lifted her left hand, and tore open a rift….

 

 

 

 

Solas noticed, as he held onto Eliana’s hand, that they had stopped falling. He opened his eyes, to see that they hovered slightly, before finally landing with a “thud”. Eliana groaned slightly, and pulled herself up, looking around in curiosity before returning her eyes, wide with fear, to Solas. He looked around now too, as everything seemed a dim, dusty green, and Hawke walked towards them from ninety-degree angle, appearing terrified.  
  
“Where the fuck are we?”  
  
“We were falling…” Stroud appeared on another angle.  
  
“If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. Looks nothing like the Maker’s Bosom,” Hawke joked bitterly.

 

“No…” Solas said now, the thrill bubbling up within him almost too much to bear, “This is the _Fade_.” He turned to Eliana now.

  
“The Inquisitor opened a Rift. We came through—and _survived_. I never thought I would find myself here physically….Look! The Black City! Almost close enough to touch.”  
  
He glanced over to see Eliana eyeing him warily.  
  
“This must be very exciting for you, Solas,” His enthusiasm was unnerving her, “But any insight into what in the name of Mythal is going on would be lovely.”  
  
“What Spirit commands this place? I have never seen anywhere like it,” he mused.  
  
“It’s not how _I_ remember the Fade either,” Hawke chimed in, “Perhaps it’s because we’re here physically? Instead of just dreaming?”

 

Varric and Bull approached now, dusting themselves off.  
  
“You walked out of the Fade at Haven, Little Bit. Was it like this?”  
  
“I don’t know. I still can’t remember what happened the last time I did this,” Eliana was rubbing the bridge of her nose and pacing.

 

“Well, whatever happened at Haven,” Hawke murmured, “I doubt we can assume we’re safe now.”

“The demon Erimond was summoning was right on the other side of that Rift at Adamant,” Eliana’s voice wavering slightly with panic.

  
“Shitballs, Fade, demons, fucking shit!” Bull helpfully went on under his breath.

 

“In our world, the Rift was near the Main Hall,” Stroud finally spoke up, “Can we escape the same way?”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
Solas watched as Eliana raised her head and looked at the Rift, high above them and some distance away, before striding off towards it.  
  
“This is fascinating. It is not the area I would have chosen, of course—But to physically walk in the Fade.” Solas pondered, trailing behind them.  
  
“It’s not a fucking _stroll,_ Solas,” Hawke hissed.  
  
“Calm yourself, child, hostile emotions only draw demons more quickly.”

 

“Well, Solas,” Eliana turned sharply, “ _You’re_ the expert. Any advice?”

He could hear the disapproval in her voice.

  
“The Fade is shaped by Intent and Emotion. Remain focused, and it will lead you to where you wish to go.” He bowed slightly to her, “The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of Fear, I would guess.”

  
“Fantastic,” She quipped, “Let’s move on, then.”

They approached a set of roughly hewn steps, and Eliana climbed to the top, stopping dead in her tracks.

 

“By the Maker—C-could it be?” Stroud approached her side, before beginning to back away.

 

The rest rushed to their side, all in awe of the visage of Divine Justinia standing peacefully with her hands clasped before her, facing the Inquisitor.

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” the Divine nodded to both Stroud and Hawke, before facing Eliana again.  
  
“Divine Justinia,” Eliana whispered, as the aspect merely inclined its head, “It can’t be you.”

 

“It’s not,” Stroud urged, “I fear we face a Spirit, or a demon.”

 

“You think my survival impossible, yet you stand alive, here, in the Fade yourselves,” the Divine gestured to them. “In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”  
  
  
“How hard is it to answer one question?” Hawke approached, “I am human, and you are…?”  
  
  
“Here to help you,” the Divine deflected, “Inquisitor, you do not remember the occurrences at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”  
  
  
“No, I don’t,” Eliana spoke softly.  
  
  
“They were taken by the demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking; it feeds upon fear and darkness, glutting itself on the terror.”  
  
  
The Divine turned to Stroud.  
  
  
“The False Calling, its work.”  
  
  
“I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare has dealt my brethren,” Stroud sneered.  
  
  
“You will have your chance, Brave Warden. This place of darkness is its lair.”  
  
  
“How does Corypheus command so many demons?” Eliana asked, her face stern.  
  
  
“I know not. His power may come from the Blight itself. But the Nightmare serves willingly; Corypheus has brought much terror to the world.”  
  
  
“How do we get home?” Eliana was almost pleading now.  
  
  
“Before you can do anything else, you must recover what the demon took from you at Haven. You must recover those memories lost to you.” At this, the Divine sent a subtle glance to Solas, stirring a slight panic in his stomach.

 

Suddenly, the figures of green wisps—Wraiths—appeared above the pools lining the path in front of them. They began to throw their magic, but Eliana had already danced over, destroying one, as the rest of their companions moved to strike down the others. As she looked into the pool left in the wake of the wraith she had slain, a spiral of green twisted up into her mark, and briefly flashed behind her eyes as her memory retook its place. She moved onto each of the remaining pools, each time, a flash of the memory seemed to brighten the air around them, and they could hear the calling of the voices. Soon, the air shimmered to replay an entire scene for them.

 

_Divine Justinia suspended above an encircling of Wardens, Corypheus standing before her with the Orb in his claws…_  


_“Now is the hour of our victory.”_

_“Why are you doing this?” Justinia pleaded with the Wardens, “You, of all people?”_

_“Keep the Sacrifice still….” Corypheus ordered, stretching his arm out as the Orb irrupted in green light._  
  
“Someone, help me!” The Divine called out, just as Eliana slid into view, throwing open the double doors.

  
_“What’s going on here?” She demanded, concern across her brow. The distraction served for the Divine to pull her arm free of the magic briefly, slapping the Orb from Corypheus’s clawed hand and rolling it across the floor, Eliana scooping it up with her left hand, impulsively. The Orb locked into her hand as she screamed out in pain, and a bright light flashed—_

 

Solas exhaled in relief that that was the only memory shown….

 

“Your mark did not come from Andraste,” Stroud said, almost accusingly, “It came from the Orb Corypheus used in his ritual.”  
  
“Corypheus intended to use the Orb to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the Gates to the Black City. Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the Orb bestowed the Anchor on your, instead.”

Eliana looked disturbed by this.  
  
“Okay, so what now?”  
  
“You have recovered some of what was taken from you, but now The Nightmare knows you are here. You must make haste. I will prepare a way ahead.”  
  
“Something troubling you, Hawke?”  
  
“I wondered if you might be, I don’t know, _concerned_ with the Grey Wardens holding the Divine in that vision? Their actions, you know, leading to _Her death?!_ ”

  
“I assume he had taken control of their minds, as you have seen him do before. Come, we can argue about this after we escape from this dark place.”

“Oh, good, because I quite intend to.”  
  
“Shut up, you two. Come on,” Eliana led them through the twisted stairs and pools of dripping rock—water falling with no source.  
  
  
“Inquisitor, the Nightmare she mentioned before…I do not look forward to meeting it,” Solas approached her, speaking quietly, “Fear is a very old, very strong feeling; predating love, pride, compassion…every emotion save perhaps desire. We must not let it weaken our resolve.”  
  
“I do not intend to,” She said sternly, not looking him in the eye as she trudged ever forward.

 

**_“Ah, we have a visitor,”_** A voice boomed from seemingly nowhere, sounding so much like Corypheus that the entire party broke stride, except Eliana.  
  
**_“Some foolish little girl comes to steal what I so kindly lifted from her shoulders. You should have thanked me and left your Fear where it lay, forgotten. You think the pain will make you stronger?”_** Eliana seemed to pay no mind, only kept walking, effortlessly striking down lesser demons as she passed.

  
**_“What a fool your mother was to have filled your mind with such drivel.”_** Solas saw her shoulders tighten at that, ** _“The only one who grows stronger from your fear is Me.”_**  
  
  
The Nightmare laughed as Eliana caused a Terror demon to explode.

 

**_“But you are a guest here in my home, so by all means, let me return what you have forgotten.”_ **

 

“‘Hey chief. Let's join the Inquisition! Good fights for a good cause!’” Bull grumbled under his breath, “I don't know, Krem, I hear there are demons,” he slammed his axe, striking down an Envy demon, "‘Ah, don't worry about the demons, chief! I'm sure we won't see many!’ Asshole.”

 

“ ** _The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions. Or maybe I will ride his body myself._** ”  
 

“I’d like to see you try,” Iron Bull growled.  
 

Eliana gently placed a hand on Bull’s arm before moving forward again. 

“Everyone,” Bull called out, “if I get possessed, feign on my blind side, then go low. Cullen says I leave myself open.”

“I'll bear that in mind,” Varric murmured with mock-amusement as he followed Hawke and the Inquisitor.

**_“Once again, Hawke is in danger because of you, Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought Hawke here…”_ **

  
“Just keep talking, Smiley,” Varric laughed.

 

“Look!” Hawke shouted, and formless, twists of Elvhen Abominations fell from seemingly nowhere, skittering towards them on all fours, moving with a disturbing skirr, fangs where mouths should have been.

 

**_“Do you think it mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? You’re a failure, and your family died knowing it.”_ **

  
“Well, that’s going to grow tiresome quickly,” Hawke mocked as he cut down one of the creatures. 

The small group killed the Fearlings with ease, but Solas found his blood running cold at the unsettling vision of their mangled bodies.  


“Spiders?” Eliana said, shivering slightly.  
  
  
_They had seen spiders. Thank Mythal, they had seen spiders._  
  
  
“We saw spiders because so many people fear them," Solas tried to compose himself.

  
“You guys saw spiders? That's a huge improvement over what I saw," Bull shuddered.  
  
“Like I said, we see what we fear," Solas replied, pushing the thought from his mind as they moved along.  
 

**_“Warden Stroud. How must it feel to devote your whole life to the wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?”_** The Nightmare continued to taunt as they moved forward.

 

“With the Maker’s blessing, we will end this wretched beast.” Stroud’s face remained stony, unchanged.

The vision of the Divine appeared before them, again, and Eliana approached her.  


“The nightmare is closer now. He knows you seek escape. With each moment, he grows stronger. You must continue to gather your memories,” Justinia gestured to the pools behind her, and Eliana moved to reabsorb her lost moments.  
  
  
Again, the flash of green behind her lilac eyes, again, the brightening of the shimmering air around her, until again, a brightening light showed a vision for them all.  
  
  
_A set of the roughly hewn steps at an extreme angle as Eliana desperately attempted to climb to the Rift above. The Divine, kneeling over and reaching out her hand as Eliana slipped slightly, before regaining her grip, moving with more urgency away from the Fearling spiders that crawled up after her. Finally gripping the Divine’s hand, being pulled up to the precipice…_  


_“The demons!” Justinia called out, as Eliana pulled her hand, moving them towards the Rift._  
  
“Keep running,” Eliana begged, but feeling the pull against her own, she looked back into the face of the Divine.  
  
“Go,” the elderly woman whispered as she was overtaken by Fearlings, and Eliana paused briefly, before appearing to be pushed, as if by some unseen force, into the Rift.

 

“It was you,” She said, turning to Justinia now, “They thought it was Andraste, but it was the Divine….And then you—she died.”

 

“Yes…” The visage nodded.  
  
“Then, this creature is simply a spirit,” Stroud’s voice lamentful.

 

“You don’t say,” Hawke added, helpfully.

 

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” The spirit spoke wistfully, before shedding the appearance of the Divine, turning into a being of pure and brilliant light.  
  
“The only thing that’s important right now is getting out of the Fade,” Eliana spoke with reverence, “Whatever you are, you’ve helped us.”  
  
“What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the Temple at the hands of the Grey Wardens,” Hawke turned to Stroud.  
  
“As I said, the Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus! We can finish this discussion at Adamant!”

  
“Assuming the Wardens and their demon army didn’t destroy the Inquisition while we were _here!”  
  
_ “How dare _you_ judge us! You—”  
  
“Now is **_not_** the time, Gentlemen!” Eliana cut them off, as another group of Fearlings appeared behind them.  
  
They pulled out their weapons and charged past her, and she tossed spells of her own over their shoulders, and Solas dropped his barrier around them.  
  
“Hawke is right, you know,” He said to her quietly, “The Wardens once served a purpose, but now they are dangerous. The need to be controlled.”  
  
“Telahna, ame tel telithal,” she hissed at him, slinging a final fire spell at the last Fearling.

 

They approached a path, two Pride Demons blocking their way.

 

_“Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din.”_  


Eliana stopped dead, the rest of her companions having run forward to attack the demons. She did not turn her head to look at Solas now, but she tilted her chin. She had heard the words the Nightmare had spoken, and she had understood.

“Banal nadas,” Solas murmured as he focused his magic through his staff, freezing briefly one of the Pride demons.  
  
This seemed to break Eliana’s trance, and she mirrored his move on the other demon, allowing their companions to more quickly break them down. Fire and ice, ice and fire, Solas and Eliana moved in sync, weakening the demons until the warriors had finally cut them both down.  
  
They walked past a graveyard, but Eliana merely glanced at it, disinterested in reading the fears on the markers. The rest followed, drawing from her a sense of strength and renewed hope. They followed the Spirit of light forward, to a final set of stairs, to see a twisted, repulsive thing, hovering above pool—pale and mawkish, almost maggot-like it the soft, fleshy appearance, but with the eight eyes and legs of a spider, tipped with sharp, black claws. Solas heard Eliana stifle a gag of repulsion as it hissed at them.  
  
“If you would,” The Light Lady approached the side of the Inquisitor now, “Please tell Leliana… ‘I’m sorry I failed you, too’.”  
  
The being passed them, hovering before the Nightmare, and then exploded with pure radiance, weakening the creature.  
  
Immediately the group took charge, continuing to fight the aspect of Fear, slowly weakening it with every thrust of a blade, hack of an axe, shot of an arrow, or bolt of magic. Slowly they wore it down before it was no longer blocking the Rift. Eliana shoved her friends through it—first Bull, then Varric, and finally Solas—and after hitting the cold pavestones of Adamant fortress, it was a long moment before anything had happened. Solas looked into the Rift, begging….  
  
Finally, Hawke and then Eliana tumbled; Eliana rolling immediately back onto her feet before thrusting the Anchor into the Rift and pulling it shut with a forceful and resounding SNAP as tears poured down her face.

 

The remaining demons fell into piles of screeching ash, as straightened herself out, and walked towards the cheering Inquisition and Warden soldiers.  
  
“Inquisitor,” A scout approached, “The Archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious, but alive. Commander Cullen thought you might like to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens, those who weren’t corrupted helped us fight the demons.”  
  
“We stand ready to help make up for Clariel’s…tragic mistake.” A Warden in full armor stood beside the scout, and saluted her, “Where is Stroud?”

 

“Warden Stroud died for your idiocy,” She spat at the man, tears still streaking the blood and dirt on her face.  
  
“We have no one left of any significant rank…What do we do now?”

  
“You will be conscripted by the Inquisition. You will make up for this by helping us defeat Corypheus, and you will earn back the freedom and good name of your organization until then.”

 

“While they do that, I’ll inform the Wardens at Weisshaupt of what has happened. Best they not get caught off guard,” Hawke smiled, jovially, ruffling Varric’s hair.  
  
“Good luck with your Inquisition, Lady Foxlette,” he winked as he kissed her hand, “Try not to start an Exalted March or anything.”  
  
As he walked away, he grabbed an unsuspecting Cassandra by the waist, dipping her into a kiss to the whoops and whistles of their surrounding friends. Cassandra flustered and blushed, half-heartedly slapped Hawke as he righted her, and continued on. Solas watched as the Commander approached Eliana, gently touching her arm, and saying something low to her that he couldn’t quite make out.

 

“Actually, if no one has any objections, I’d like to go back to Skyhold now. And for the next few days, I think I’ll be taking a small break from any official work. I need a nap,” she sighed, and was surrounded by laughter of approval as Dorian, approached to scoop her up and carry her back down to their mounts, for one last night of camp in the Western Approach.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telahna: Hush  
> Ame tel telithal: I am not blind  
> Dirth ma, harellan: Speak, Trickster  
> Ma banal enasalin: You care for nothing but victory  
> Mar solas ena mar din: Your pride will be your death.  
> Banal Nadas: Nothing is inevitable.
> 
>  
> 
> ily all <3 xoxoxoxox


	33. Constellation: Fenrir (The White Wolf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff-n-stuff to lift our spirits a bit  
> from the journey that was Adamant.
> 
>  
> 
> Complete with pet-names and sweet gestures <3
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> My little bunnies of  
> inspiration and perseverance!
> 
> Muah! <3 xoxoxo

 

Solas had been careful about approaching her since they had gotten back from the Fade a few hours ago, and she had noticed.  
Now, though, he tentatively stood outside her door. Dorian looked up at him.

  
"Ah, our Fade-walking healer! Get in here, will you? I am at a loss for healing this burn."

  
Eliana looked down at the burn, the leather of her cloak melted into skin, and winced.  
Solas strode in, hands clasped behind his back, before kneeling in front of her.

  
"Dorian, I believe the Inquisitor will need a pain-killing tonic for this one, medium strength. Da'len, if you would kindly recline."

  
Dorian fiddled around in a chest before handing Eliana the tincture, and handing Solas an empty tin, tweezers, and a bottle of clear liquor. After she downed the bottle, Solas dabbed the wound with the liquor, drawing a hiss of pain from Eliana. As he began to pull bits of leather from the burn, dabbing each fresh red, oozing wound to sanitize them, she looked at him.   
  
His eyes met hers only briefly, before whispering a faint, " _Ir abelas, da'len._ " Each strip of leather torn from her flesh causing a searing pain, and a heat to rise back up in the burn, but finally, she felt the cooling tendrils of Solas’s magic enter her wounded flesh, speeding the healing so thoroughly, that the scar that remained when he was through was hardly noticeable. Dorian leaned over, pressing his lips to the now-healed wound.

  
“And a kiss, to make it all better,” he grinned, pulling back.  
  
  
“That must be a Tevene tradition,” Solas smiled slightly at her, raising an eyebrow.  
  
“I assume so,” she smiled back, “Vhenan.”  
  
She saw the fleeting shock that flashed across his eyes, but he grasped the palm of her right hand, and pressed a kiss against the veins visible at her wrist.  
She took a moment to run her eyes over his lovely, long, deft hands as they held her own small one, and let out a small sigh.  
  
  
“Shall I draw a bath for you, my lamb?” Dorian had already moved towards the door, glancing over his shoulder.  
  
“Yes please, my peach,” she blew him a kiss as he shut the door behind him.

  
She looked at Solas now, examining the wary look he was giving her, before leaning forward and kissing the hallow of his collarbone. The Nightmare had been cryptic in its message, but what truly rekindled her suspicion of the Apostate was one of the memories that the others had not seen.

  
  
_On the path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, she shivered in her black cloak, flurries of snow making the path before her a merely an endless expanse of white. She trudged through the snow silently, the wind deafening any sound she could hope to make out. So when a stranger appeared on the path in front of her, they both were startled by the suddenness of the other. The stranger paused only briefly before moving past her, away from the temple, and while his dark-green cloak hid most of his face, he glanced over at her fleetingly—and she was struck by the icy grey-blue of his eyes, and the sparse twists of grey through the deep auburn of his dreadlocks—and suddenly he was gone. And, while confused, she continued on. She had a mission._

  
 

“A el'u sul ma'el'u. Ar'an mala britha emaronem,” she whispered into the base of his ear, sending a shiver visibly up his spine.  
  
  
  
“Now, Hahren, would you be so kind as to help me undress?”  
  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Ma’ Halevune’udh,” he smiled at her wickedly.  
  
  
He then moved to stand behind her before tearing the buttons from her coat, causing them to clink as they skittered over the tiles.  
  
  
“Hey—” She started but his voice low and lusty in her ear stopped her.

  
“It was ruined anyway, little fox,” he murmured, and somehow his voice made the pet-name sound even sexier in Common.

 

He deftly untied her blouse and the laces of her leggings, watching her hungrily as she crossed her arms and pulled the shirt over her head. He unbuckled her breast-band and shimmied the leggings and small-clothes down her legs, leaving a trail of kisses from her hips to the space behind her ankle. He then wrapped her in a towel cloth, just as Dorian rapped on the door.  
  
Dorian brought in two buckets, and was followed in by Bull, filling the small wooden tub with five buckets of warmed water. Bull sent her a wink/blink, and a grin, but to her chagrin, Solas followed them out, grinning wolfishly.   
  
“I will see you at dinner, Vhenan.”

 

* * *

 

Solas himself went off to have a bath, and thought over her comment.  
  
  
_A secret for a secret…but what secret was she referring to? Could she even recognize me from the Temple path? I hardly recognized her myself…_

  
  
He thought of tearing the buttons off her coat and found himself hardening. He permitted himself to trace his hands down his length, teasing and tugging, but not allowing himself too much friction. No chance of relief. He ran a blade over his scalp carefully, keeping the hair ever at bay, and vigorously scrubbed at the dirt and the blood—mostly of others—until it spread away into the water. He dressed and straightened himself before moving out into the courtyard, where a feast of celebration was being held.  
  
  
Eliana had already beat him to the party, wearing something so simple and exquisite, the Commander—whom she was currently speaking to—was flushed a bright red and merely nodding at everything she said. A long, thin robe, some Antivan silk of paled smoky grape, both sleeves rolled up to her forearms; completed with an pearly golden-champagne sash crossing from around her neck, between her breasts, and circling her waist to a bow in the back, as well as matching foot-wraps. He saw now, as he approached, a gold circlet with a single lepidolite drop in the center around her head—nothing so formal or ostentatious as would imply royalty, merely an old Dalish tradition embraced in a new manner.

  
  
“So, you and Ladybits... Int’restin’.” Solas had been too distracted to notice Sera sidle up next to him.  
She was, of course, already inebriated.

“Your interest is not my concern,” He said, turning to look down his nose at her.  
  
  
“Tha's alrigh’, cause I meant  _borin’_ ,” Sera hiccupped, “Tha elf always takes tha elf so tha’ bangin’ bits ‘ull mean somefin.”  
 

“It is not a topic for discussion.” His voice was sharp, and she was just growing louder.

“Oh, c’mon. Drop 'em an’ rebuild tha empire! Phwoar!”  
  
She made a graphic thrusting gesture with her hips, and Solas felt his ears go red with anger.  
  
  
“You're ridiculous,” Eliana laughed, having suddenly appeared at Solas’s elbow.  
 

“Not me, Iz ‘im!” Sera, gestured, “An’ you.”

“Only one of us is looking sad and foolish, Sera,” Solas spoke more calmly now, glad for Eliana’s presence. 

“Oi, go twan’ yer ears!” Sera trudged off to find more alcohol, no doubt.  
  
  
  
“I’m sorry about her,” Eliana blushed, tugging a perfect spiral of liquid white-gold behind her ear, “She’s more observant than we give her credit for…unfortunately.”

“Don't concern yourself, Vhenan,” He said, sweetly, before glancing back up at the archer, stumbling away, “She is…apart from herself.” 

“You mean sloshed? Yeah. Isn’t she always.”  
  
  
  
They meandered over to a mostly empty tarpaulin—only a few drunken old soldiers playing a game of Wicked Grace—and sat down on some barrels by Cullen’s chessboard. That reminded Solas of something.  
  
  
“What’s this I hear about your refusing to ever play a game of Chess with me?”  


Eliana laughed lightly and flushed.

  
“Oh no, I was hoping you’d never hear about that!” He merely smirked, quirking a single eyebrow as he waited for her explanation.  
  
“Well, firstly, I’m terrible at the game. And secondly, you would never just let me win on occasion merely because I’m pretty.”  
  
  
“One never improves if one doesn’t practice, da’len. And you aren’t pretty,”  
He paused just enough to take in her expression of hurt and anger, “ _Ane venirast._ ”  
  
  
She laughed then, before giving him a scolding look.  
  
  
“Din venirast sul ma lasa lanaste, Hahren.” He smirked, lowering his voice to a whisper.  
  
  
“ _Telin venirast en'an'sal gasha ela banal dirthala, Halesta_.”

“Then what is perfection truly, ma’ Fen?”

  
“Sileal nuvena dirthala eolasa garahnen,” His voice still low, “I'tel nuvenal himathe sul’nar sulanathe.”  
  
She eyed him thoughtfully, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips as he took a sip of his wine.  
  
“Oh, and one must look _enchanting,_ all the while,” Solas finished, his voice just a purr now.

 

Quite abruptly, Dorian, Bull, Varric, Vivienne, and Cassandra sat themselves down at the table next to them—Vivienne passing Eliana and Solas each a goblet of wine, as Bull set down his own plate (or, rather, platter) before handing each elf their own.  
  
  
“Hello, darlings. We felt we were missing out on all of the fun. And neither of you two have eaten yet,” Vivienne cooed, surprising Eliana with a kiss on each cheek and ( _I’m…almost certain_ ) a genuine smile.  


Cassandra was carrying a stack of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell—jotting down notes as they occurred to her.

“What’s that chicken-scratch, Cass?” Eliana joked.

“Writing does not come naturally to me, as I'm certain you can imagine,” The Seeker responded irksomely, though not at anyone in particular. 

“Love poetry, I assume?” Eliana fluttered her eyelashes at Cassandra, managing to draw a grin and a head-shake from the Seeker.  
  
“I couldn’t, not even if my life depended on it; poetry takes finesse, it takes…grace.”  
  
“Cassandra, you have those qualities—” The Seeker eyed her dangerously before shaking her head in disagreement.  
  
“Historians will one day ask what happened at Adamant Fortress, in The Fade. I was not there, but others were. Their accounts must be recorded,” Cassandra returned to her writing before looking back up at Eliana briefly, “Do not worry, I will not pester you for your report until you are ready to give it.”

  
  
Varric sighed slightly now, and Eliana leaned ( _way_ ) over to lie her head on his shoulder.

“I knew Stroud, you know. Not well. He led the Wardens near Kirkwall. Not many people knew who he was, but the man was a hero when it mattered. He wasn't the first good man to fall to Corypheus. He won't be the last. This story's no good for heroes,” the dwarf pursed his lips.

  
“Well, at least Hawke survived,” Eliana nuzzled into Varric’s scruff, drawing out a chuckle, “And, by my count, twelve heroes made it out of Adamant, and four of the five heroes that entered the Fade survived, so, who knows? We heroes might just make it, yet.”  
  
  
“Inquisitor, my blessing, but your math is a bit off,” Dorian pointed out, slyly, “I believe six of you went into the Fade, and if you applied that number to the heroes surviving Adamant, your total remaining heroes adds to thirteen.”  
 

“She was not including herself,” Solas pointed out, and the small group berated her.  
  
She merely shrugged and smiled.  
  
“You can call me a hero when I’m dead, but not before,” she raised her goblet, “To Warden Stroud.”  
  
“To Warden Stroud,” even Solas echoed, and they finished off their wine.  
  
  
  
Just then, a group of soldiers brought out some instruments and began to start a beat.  
  
  
Dorian dragged Eliana off towards the circle as she protested.  
  
  
“Dorian, no! I don’t even know how to dance like a civilized lady yet! I was raised by savages, remember?”  
  
“Oh, come now, my Foxlette,” He turned around to the surrounding soldiers and Mages, “Who wants to see the Inquisitor dance?”  
  
“No, no—Vivienne, help! Tell them it’s improper or something!”

But Vivienne just lifted a manicured hand to her ear, as if she couldn’t ear her, before joining in the clapping and cheering of the others.  
  
  
Eliana just stood there by the fire a moment, perfectly still and eyes closed, her hair glowing as it was backlit by the flames. Slowly, she began to roll onto the balls of her feet, jumping before stamping gently on the ground, barely making a thud. She half-turned, one hand on her hips and slightly rolling her body into a straighter posture before repeating the leap-stomp.  
Luckily, a few Dalish elves that happened to be in the company joined in, moving seamlessly into the dance, jumping and stomping, and adding a clap. Solas moved closer, along with Bull and Dorian, to watch as one of the men lifted the Inquisitor by the waist and setting her down, in time with the stomp, and she clapped on beat, laughing now, as they moved faster and the rhythm picked up. Soon, she excused herself, stepping away from the dancers and towards the water pail Cullen stood next to. Solas was close enough to hear her.  
  
  
“That was incredible, I must say,” The Commander’s flush even evident in his voice.  
  
  
“Oh, that? That was the tamest Dalish dance I could think of. Honestly, I don’t even think it’s Dalish. It’s not…wild enough,” she took a sip of water,  
”Do you dance, Cullen?”  
  
  
“I—uh, no. The Templars never attended balls,” he stuttered nervously, just as Solas turned and approached Eliana.  
  
  
“Well, I promise, Arlathvhen dancing and dancing at human balls are two completely different things entirely,” She lectured the enthralled Commander.  
  
  
  
“Vhenan, Commander, would you mind if I borrowed the Inquisitor for a bit?” Solas bowed more deeply than usual, hoping to not ruffle Cullen’s feathers.

“Not at all,” He bowed back, smiling only to Eliana, as Solas took her hand and led her up onto the Battlements.  


* * *

 

“So this is why you borrowed me? A leisurely stroll on the battlements _does_ seem quite pressing,” Eliana teased, but Solas continued to lead her on.

Twisting upwards onto a recessed platform, out of the way of anyone passing by, but with a full view of the immense, endless night sky; and, to her surprise, an Astrarium.  
  
“Oh!” She let out a quiet gasp as he led her over to it, turning it just-so, and letting her look through, marking on the sphere with her finger until all the lines of the Constellation had been drawn complete.

“ _Fenrir_ ,” Solas’s voice was low and gravely in her ear, “the White Wolf.”  
  
She turned to him, smiling, and was intrigued to see him holding out a book for her: **_A Study of Thedosian Astronomy_  by Sister Oran Petrarchius**.  
A page was earmarked, and she turned to it; Solas kindly illuminating a nearby lantern with silvery Veilfire so she could read.  
 

 

> _Called "White Wolf" in common parlance, Fenrir has always been considered an oddity among scholars, primarily because wolves have no special place within ancient Tevinter folklore. To many, this represents the strongest argument that the Imperium deliberately supplanted older elven constellation names—in the case of Fenrir, an alignment with the elven trickster god, Fen’Harel, would be logical. Others claim a much older Neromenian tale of a wolf escaping hunters by fleeing into the sky exists, but the legend's veracity has never been proved._

  
Seeing when she had finished the entry, Solas extinguished the Veilfire, leaving them in the cold, dark; once again illuminated only by the eternal expanse of stars. She gently moved to return the book to him, but he pressed it back into her hands.  
  
“Emma lanun sul’ma,” brushing his lips against hers as he whispered.

“Lasa em serannasa,” she purred in response before pulling him to the floor of the alcove, his moans audible to only the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies  
> Da'len: Little one  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> A el'u sul ma'el'u: Your secret for my secret  
> Ar'an mala britha emaronem: We now seem to be equal.  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Ma’ Halevune’udh: My little Moon-Fox  
> Ane venirast: You are perfect, divine, flawless  
> Din venirast sul ma lasa lanaste: Not perfect (enough) for you to grant mercy  
> Telin venirast en'an'sal gasha ela banal dirthala: No one perfect is blessed so completely to have nothing to learn  
> Ma’ Fen: My Wolf  
> Sileal nuvena dirthala eolasa garahnen: Wisdom to want to learn & to understand everything/all things  
> I'tel nuvenal himathe sul’nar sulanathe: Without wanting to change for your (own) use/service  
> Emma lanun sul’ma: My gift for you  
> Lasa em serannasa ma’: Allow me to show my gratitude
> 
>  
> 
> usual mega s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
>  
> 
>  **as well as the biggest s/o of gratitude to**  
> [ **Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), **juliaxsnyder, and everyone else**  
>  who has offered support and condolences to me  
> during this rough couple days.  
>  **You are my angels <3 xoxoxox**


	34. Mythal’s Blessing (or: Departing the Western Approach)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter with a fluffy little ending.  
> I'm ready to get back to Skyhold.
> 
>  Good song for the end of this chapter:  
> [Poison & Wine](https://open.spotify.com/track/3wsZYuHJrk3lssa7V7jvye)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading,  
> and for bearing with me while I deal  
> with the losses of three family members.
> 
> You are all special, unique, and  
> magical Unicorns of support and inspiration.
> 
> Thank You, ThankYou, Thankyou <3 Muah! xoxo

_She was running, soaked in blood. She knew she had made a terrible mistake, even before she saw the look on Deshanna’s wise, old face._

  
_“Halesta, ahn ane nulemah?”_

_“Shemlen'ehn dalem mamae….” She sobbed into the ground openly, as she Keeper shushed her._  
  
_“We must get you cleaned up. You will have to go; you will not be able to stay at the camp. You can stay close, to help Gal train Taralani to hunt. But you no one else can know. I will gather your things; wash in the stream and meet me at the Great Oak in an hour. I will bring Galifalon.”_  
  
_She nodded, bowing slightly as she lifted herself from the dirt._  
  
_“Ir abelas,” she whimpered before running towards the stream._

Eliana woke sitting up straight, drenched in a cold sweat. It was, as usual, well before dawn. She flopped back down, but she knew it was pointless. The damp sheets and night-shirt sticking to the tacky layer of perspiration was too uncomfortable.

_Well, no time like the present._

She got up and stood in the tub, dumping buckets of water—cooled from the desert night—over her head; washing off the gross feeling left over from her nightmare. Quickly drying herself, she dressed in her comfortable travel and riding clothes, and grabbed her book and quill before perching in the edge of the bed.

> _———_
> 
> _Keeper Deshanna—_  
>  _Ir abelas, I should have written sooner. Thank you for the beautiful set of dress robes, as well as your support in the continuance of my Mamae's name. If Galifalon_   _and_   _Taralani have not yet undergone the bonding ceremony—or even if they have—I would love to hear word so I may send a gift. I hope you find this book amusing, if not educational. For your endless kindness, protection, and wisdom: ma serannas._  
>  _—Eliana_
> 
> _———_
> 
> _Gal—_  
>  _I will never be able to deserve your mercy for my not writing before now. As I am sure you know, I am alive, and leading a human movement to save Thedas from a Darkspawn Magister….Might I add that I did not volunteer for this; it was forced upon me. I cannot believe it has been a whole year since I last laid eyes on you. I can’t imagine you’ve changed much in appearance. I wish to hear back from you as soon as possible, so I may send you a gift for your bonding to Taralani. Also, I was wondering if she sketches at all, and if so, would she perhaps be willing to send me a drawing of you? Send my best to her, Eolas, and to_ _Amelan Deshanna. Please also tell Amelan_ _that her discretion in regards to the history of "Hale" is deeply appreciated; I know the Night-bird can be troublesome and persistent._ _I miss you, Gal. Bellanaris emma lath. Mythal'enaste._
> 
> _—H_
> 
> _———_

She carefully grabbed the old book she had found laying about Griffon Wing Keep:  ** _Before Andrastianism: the Forgotten Faiths_  by Sister Rondwyn of Tantervale.**   
Gently, she slid her knife under the paper holding the first pages of the book to the inside of the front cover; careful not to tear or leave any pulls or marks. She slid her second letter into this space before using her magic to warm her palm slightly; re-melting the glue and securing the letter, safely unnoticed, into the book.  
She sighed, grateful for Deshanna’s wisdom in showing her this trick, before setting the first letter inside the front cover, and wrapping it in a stray burlap scrap, twisting twine over all four edges before knotting it neatly in a bow.  
  
A knock came at her door, and she started slightly.

 

“Inquisitor, I just came to see if you are ready,” Cassandra poked her head in the door.  
  
“Yes, of course!” Eliana smiled brightly at her before turning and gathering her things, followed the Seeker down to the main gate.  
  
  
She dropped her things and rushed at her horse, throwing her arms around the mount’s neck with warm affection.  
  
“Da’assan, emma Nas!” She lovingly nuzzled the horse, which returned the gesture naturally.  
  
“Have you been a good girl?” She cooed, offering Da’assan a sugar lump, drawing a whinny of delight.  
  
  
“The Inquisitor and her Horse…That’s a romance novel for you, right there,” Varric teased as he passed by.  
  
“Indeed,” Solas’s voice was unmistakable, low and heady beside her ear.  
She turned to him with a carefully controlled smile, seeing he held the luggage she had tossed aside, offering her the book wrapped in its burlap and string.  
  
“Oh, thank you,” she chirped, grabbing the bags first and securing them to Da’assan.  
She then lightly took the book from him, changing her face as if she recalled suddenly.  
  


  
“Oh! Scout Harding?” The smiling Dwarfette all-but skipped to her side.  
  
“Would you see that whomever handles sending packages will get this to Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan?” 

“Gladly, your Worship!” Lace skipped off, and Eliana raised her eyes back to Solas, his eyebrow cocked questioningly.  
  
 

“A book I found on Pre-Andrastian religion,” she smirked at him.  
  
  
“Oh, is that an interest of Keepers now?” He jabbed, mounting Fenvir, but she merely fluttered her lashes wantonly.  
 

“Only the ones with a sense of humor,” she grinned.  


 

They exited Griffon’s Wing Keep finally, and Eliana had no interest in looking back. They moved at a steady clip across the desert, hoping to make it to Velune, near Lake Celestine, before nightfall. Eliana rode alone for awhile, lost in her own thoughts until she caught word from Cole and Solas talking behind her; their cryptic codes making slightly more sense to her than usual.

"Ancient agony—shadows forgotten from dreams too real. This side is slow and heavy, but here is what can change."

“Yes, Cole. It is nature of the hurt.”  
  


"You hurt, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same—But, she’s real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't."  
  
  
“Cole,” Eliana heard Solas lower his voice, trying to warn the Spirit-boy, but he took no heed.

  
“She’s too bright. Like counting birds against the sun. The mark makes her more. But past it… she reaches across, mindful, meaning. She pulls it through to this side, makes it real here. And then, past that—the weight of all on her. All the hopes she carries, the fears she fights. She is theirs. And she is yours,” Eliana heard the volume and tone change as Cole turned his head to look at her, “And she is also like you: _of_ you. Part of _your_ People.”  
  
She furrowed her eyebrows at that, but did not flinch or otherwise indicate that she had heard them; continuing the languid roll of her hips as she lazily moved against her saddle. 

"Voice ringing with fullness from both worlds, guiding her to the shining places. He calls himself Pride."

   
Solas was silent for a long time after that, and she mentally begged Cole to not read her thoughts again today, though he did not answer aloud.

 

She felt the physical relief of Da’assan when they finally moved off the shifting sands onto smoothed pavestones.  
  
“Rosa, soun’lin,” she murmured to her mount, and Da’assan seemed to straighten slightly, as though more determined.

 

“Vi'dirth'asa re El’vhen.” She hadn’t noticed Solas sidling up beside her.

 

“She speaks the language of the _heart_ ,” she corrected, patting her horse’s neck gently.  
  
  
“Is that not the same thing?” Solas’s tone was baiting, though his expression remained passive.  
  
  
“It can be, if it is not used to confuse or manipulate, or to lie.”  
  
She kept her tone neutral and calm—pleasant, even, hopping lightly as Da’assan took a slight jump over a log fallen across the path.  
  
  
“She can tell the difference,” Eliana concluded, smiling with pointed warmth at Solas, who merely met her gaze with a politely unresponsive slow blink.  
  
He reached his hand out to her, and she took it; Fenvir and Da’assan keeping in step. 

He looked forward, and so did she, riding for a moment in silence.

 

“Vhenan,” Solas sighed the word, quietly.   
  
And she smiled, despite herself; squeezing his hand gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahn ane nulemah: What are you about to regret? (What have you done?)  
> Shemlen'ehn dalem mamae: The humans who killed Mother  
> Amelan: Keeper  
> Bellanaris emma lath: Eternally my love (*familial love)  
> Mythal'enaste: Mythal’s Blessing.  
> Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Emma Nas: My Soul, Heart; more often used to mean the emotional or conceptual side of the soul  
> Rosa, soun’lin: Endure, strong one  
> Vi'dirth'asa re El’vhen: Her language is Elvhen/of The People  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
>  **Also, a HUGE THANK YOU**  
>  **for the AMAZING support of**  
>  **juliaxsnyder,[Aisln](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), & [BriarRose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose)**  
>  while I deal with the grieving process.
> 
>  
> 
> **You three complete me <3**


	35. Binding Promenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brief fluffette.
> 
> I promise to write a longer chapter, soon!!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always!  
> Muah! <3 xoxox

Solas hadn’t seen her since their return to Skyhold. He had spotted her, once walking through the gardens with Mother Giselle, and a few times at dinner. But she hadn’t come to him. He tried to distract himself with his books, his mural— anything…but she always came drifting back to his mind.   
It wasn’t until Cole came to him on the fourth day in a fit that he was distracted.  


“Bind me,” the Spirit-boy pleaded, desperately.

  
“What? No!”  
  
  
“It’s the only thing that can protect them—protect her! What if I become like the Wardens at Adamant—”  
  
  
“Cole. No. I will not bind you. That would subject you to _my_ will; it would be as twisting to your purpose as any ritual you saw at Adamant.”  
  
  
“ _But I’m not safe!”_ Cole had never raised his voice before, but now he was nearly sobbing with the fear of consequence.

 

“What if binding changes you? Takes away what makes you... _you_?”

  
“Helping makes me who I am! I help the hurting. _That_ is what I do—all I do, am, _me_!”

  
“And if binding you erases your mind? Your consciousness?”  
  
  
“ _You_ wouldn’t make me hurt innocent people. I don’t want to hurt innocents again,” Cole looked desperately at him, and he thought for a moment.  
  
  
“Let me talk to the Inquisitor. I have an idea.”  


 

Solas walked from the Rotunda through the Hall, knocking gently on the door to Josephine’s office—not waiting for a response before entering. He was certainly surprised to see Eliana attempting at an Orlesian _Allemande_ dance with the Commander, as Dorian and Bull leaned against the wall, and the Ambassador directed the steps from aside.   
  
  
“One, two, three…One, two, three—No, no, Commander—”  


“Solas!” Eliana had seen him first and rushed towards him, a look of relief on her face. 

  
“Inquisitor, I require a moment of your time—”  
  
  
“Messere Solas, fantastic! We could use another dance partner. Are you familiar with dancing _Courante_?” Josephine rushed over to him now.  
  
“Yes, but—”  
  
  
“Fantastic! Take your places.”

  
Eliana shot him an apologetic look as he followed her back to the center of the room, standing a stride away from her and facing the same direction as she. He outstretched his hand, and she laid hers atop, stiffly.   
  
“I apologize, I am terrible at this Orlesian dancing,” she whispered before the Ambassador began her count; punctuating each with a clap.

 

“One, two, two, three…”  
 

They each took two gliding steps forward before bending at the knees.

 

“What did you want to talk to me about?”   
  
Eliana’s voice was quiet as they took two small leaps to one side, bending their knees again into two consecutive pliés.   
  
  
“Cole wants me to _bind_ him. Blood magic. He fears for his and our—your safety.”  


They made another couple of tiny bounds in the opposite direction, before sweeping their feet forward to begin the same movements anew.  
  
“There has to be some middle ground between ‘bind Cole with Blood magic’ and ‘do nothing’,” she kept her gaze forward, but her voice lowered even further, and her brow furrowed.

 

“I recall from my wanderings memories of amulets, used by Rivani seers to protect Spirits they summoned from rival Mages,” he moved reflexively in a twist around her, until their positions were switched, and they repeated the steps in mirror.  
  
  
“A Spirit wearing an Amulet of the Unbound was immune to binding and Blood magic. It should protect Cole, as well.”  
  
  
She turned then to him, and they performed the previous routine once more, before circling each other more tightly.  
  
  
“With your resources, Inquisitor…” he murmured.

 

They momentarily leapt apart before jumping lightly back towards each other.

“We will find one for Cole,” She said resolutely as he plié’d finally into a bow and she curtsied.

 

Their audience now applauded enthusiastically, and the Ambassador was suddenly gripping his arm.  
  
  
“ _Magnífico!_ Messere Solas, you must join us more often! That is the first time the Inquisitor preformed the _courante_ flawlessly.”  


He had to stifle his smile, noticing the flush blooming across Eliana’s face, as well as Cullen’s pursed lips and furrowed brow.  


“I am at your command, Ambassador,” he bowed briefly before exiting the room.

 

* * *

 

“ _Magnifico, Solas!”_ Dorian mimicked Josephine’s accent as he walked Eliana to dinner.   
  
  
“Stop that,” She subtly pinched his arm, hissing, “Solas’s superiority is too inflated already. I don’t need him catching wind of your teasing.”  
  
  
“You act as if you aren’t already besotted with him, my Elvhen goddess,” he smirked, whispering in her ear as he pulled out her chair for her.  
  
  
She shot him the quickest of stern squints, before nodding her gratitude with a smile as she sat.   
Josephine had her dining with the most dreary Orlesian nobles since her return, but this was their final night at Skyhold before heading back to Val Royeaux.   
They mostly spoke to each other in Orlesian, and only occasionally required a nod or pleasant “Of course!” from her. She picked at her food, and dutifully remained at her seat until the last of the nobles retired.   
  
With a sigh of relief, she thanked the servant that had begun to clear the table, and glided off to the Rotunda. 

 

She moved in silently, having finally learned how to open the heavy door without causing it to creak.   
  
Solas was on his scaffolding, painting another panel of his fresco; tunic removed, shirtsleeves rolled up to expose the flexing muscles of his forearms, his hands and wrists speckled with pigment.   
  
  
She loudly tossed herself onto his divan.  
 

He didn’t jump at the sound—merely held still for a moment before looking over his shoulder at her dramatic feign.   
She could see the tiniest of libertine smiles curling the corner of his lips as he continued to paint for a long moment.   
  
Presumably finding a stopping point, he slowly organized his pigments and brushes before sliding down the scaffold ladder with an easy grace that made her heart skip.

 

“Ahn, Vhenan?” He purred as he strode towards her; his movement and tone predatory.   
  
  
“Ame u'asha, Hahren. Savis emathem i aranel.” She played the lonesome, vulnerable damsel.

“Ah, the burden of power,” he exhaled wistfully, chin tilted up and away as he came to stand in front of her in his usual pose.  
  
  
“If only someone loved me,” she mirrored his far-away, musing look with a teasing sigh.  
  
  
He was next to her then, suddenly, his words just a breath across her lips.

  
“ _Vis telir’u._ ”

 

And then, _finally_ —his lips against her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahn, Vhenan: What is it, (my)Heart?  
> Ame u'asha: I am lonely/alone  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Savis emathem i aranel: Although surrounded by many acquaintances  
> Vis telir’u: If only
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
>  
> 
> My love to you all! (Esp. Julia, Aisln, & BriarRose)


	36. Tea, And the Difference Between Letters & Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just hanging around Skyhold.  
> Slight smut, heavy fluff <3
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Muah!! xoxoxoxo

_It was her dream—he was merely spying on it—but he could almost feel her skin on his flesh._  
  
_She writhed and begged this visage of him, pleading for more, as he raked his nails down the insides of her thigh. He was so rough with her tiny, fragile body...biting her hard, pulling her hair so roughly, causing her to mewl and cry. He thrust himself into her so violently, and her back arched as she moaned loudly._  
  
_Was he really that rough with her? Was this dream based more in memory or in fantasy?_  
  
_He watch himself drive into her, feverish and fast, pressing her small, delicate body against the mattress of her bed. His one hand grasped her throat, and her face began to turn blue as her air was cut off. When she finally came, he swore he could feel her convulsions around him. And then the visage of himself simply left; leaving her curled into herself, crying suddenly and he heard her faint whimper._  
  
_"I don't need you to love me, I don't."_

 

He pulled himself awake; overwhelmed, guilty, and confused.  
He needed tea.

  
When he returned from the kitchens, she was already there in the Rotunda, curled up on his divan with a couple of books and a pile of her paperwork. He had gotten used to her like this: bringing her work with her, sitting in silence with him as he painted or studied old texts. Sometimes she would be up the stairs in the Library, sitting near Dorian, leaning with her back to the bannister—but she was rarely out of sight, lately. 

  
She glanced up at him when he entered, handing her a cup of tea.  
  
“You hate tea,” she took the warm beverage gratefully, though, an eyebrow raised at him.  
  
  
“I did not sleep very well.” He smiled at her gently, tucking a curl behind her ear that had escaped from the loose knot she had piled atop her head. He loved to see the flush of color that spread over her cheeks and ears whenever he was kind to her; it was somehow more demure, a paler rose than the crimson blush she got when angry or aroused.  
  
  
He walked over to his desk; taking a seat, and sipping his tea as he read over the report Leliana had left him about Cole’s amulet.  
He heard her giggle—a quiet laugh, euphonious and warm and slightly husky, like her voice.

“Hm?” He didn’t look up, but he knew she was watching him.  
  
  
“Just the way you scrunch up your face every time you take a sip. It’s…charming.” Her voice was soft—it was still very early, and she always tended to speak more gently in the reverberance of the Rotunda.

  
He allowed a smile, but still didn’t look up.

  
“Charming?”  
 

“Adorable, perhaps, would be more accurate.”

  
He chucked lightly, and moved to the next note he had received from the Spymaster. The initial letter was followed by two scribbled correspondences between the Ambassador and the Nightingale. The second letter was from Leliana’s original source, followed by an attachment of an old letter, with notes scribbled underneath: the second of which was written in Eliana’s hand.

 

 

 

> ****  
> 
>  
> 
> _Sister Leliana,_
> 
> _The shards acquired by the Herald of Andraste are unlike anything I've encountered. Though ancient in origin, few have been recovered before now. The Breach must have disrupted whatever ancient magic was concealing them from view._
> 
> _I have heard of one scroll that mentions the shards. It belonged to the Circle Tower in Markham. However, after the Circles fell, the Sorrell family seized many of the valuables as compensation for donations made after their mage son was taken there. They intend to sell the scroll, along with everything else, at private auction._
> 
> _—Enchanter Renaud_
> 
> _~~~_
> 
> _  
> Josephine,_
> 
> _If this ancient magic is tied to the Breach, or can offer some  
>                  advantage against it, we need to know. Can you get us into that auction?_
> 
> _—Leliana_
> 
> _~~~_
> 
> _Leliana,_
> 
> _A few well-placed rumors should incite bidding wars on  
>  _ _other items, leaving the scroll for us._
> 
> _—Josephine_
> 
> _****_
> 
> _Sister Leliana,_
> 
> _With thanks to our lady ambassador, I was able to study the scroll. The reference is vague, but it implies a connection to a temple, possibly elven. I followed the lead and believe one such temple stands in an oasis in the Western Approach. As to what may lie within, I cannot say. Reports of the place are cut off or have pages missing. I have only to find a single, reliable, first-hand account. Perhaps our soldiers can provide a better one._
> 
> _—Enchanter Renaud_
> 
> ****
> 
> _Lynette,_
> 
> _I met Bayard in Val Firmin. From there, we travelled with the miners to the Western Approach. Bayard says the miners call the place the "Forbidden Oasis."_
> 
> _I feared perhaps the water was poisonous—you hear of such things—or that the area was home to one of the beasts in Joaquim's books. Bayard simply laughed and told me not to worry so much. When I asked how the oasis earned its dramatic name, Bayard replied, "Don't ask about the door." He showed it to me, besides._
> 
> _I made an inscription taken at the temple door Bayard had referred to. It is in Elven, so I have included my best translation for you, though the last line I cannot quite understand._  
>    
>  {Emma solas him var din'an. Tel garas solasan. Melana en athim las enaste}
> 
> _“Our arrogance became long end._
> 
> _Not come a prideful place._
> 
> _Time emerges humble hope favor. (?)”_
> 
> _  
> I already miss the sound of your voice, but the contract they offered will provide for us, and what is a year if I know you are waiting at the end of it?_
> 
> _—Saul Didot, 9:38 Dragon_
> 
> _  
>   
>  _
> 
> _Note: No further correspondence was ever sent._
> 
> _—Enchanter R._
> 
> _~~~_
> 
> _We might ask M. Solas to confirm, but a better_ _translation of the inscription might be:_
> 
> _“Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor.”_
> 
> _—Eliana_
> 
> ****
> 
>  

Solas smiled to himself. She never failed to impress him with her grasp of even the most ancient of El'dirth'vhen'an, and her deference to the wisdom and expertise of others was so _rare_. She was so singular—so unexpected.

 

He didn’t look up when a messenger came in searching for her. He heard her thank the man warmly, and then the sound of cloth, before the distinct sound of a book being opened and her delighted hum.

 

He glanced at her side-long to see her smiling at the rough-bound leather and ragged pages, skimming her eyes along the lines there. Her eyes glinted with gratification as she tucked the book neatly into her side and returned to her work.

* * *

She didn’t stay too much longer after she was delivered the book: **_El’era'mana_** _, As Told by Keeper Gisharel, of the Ralaferin Dalish._ She piled her things neatly before going to her quarters, moving calmly and slowly. Solas nodded to her as she passed, not looking up from his notes.  
  
  
As soon as she had placed her things on her desk, she pulled out one of her daggers and gently slid it under the page glued to the cover; slipping out the letter hidden there, Eliana quickly smoothed out the page again as she warmed it, re-setting the glue with her magic. She then tucked the letter tightly into her notebook—to read later—and stuffed her daybook back underneath her heavy mattress.

  
  
She then picked up her gift and headed back to the Rotunda. Solas had gone, but she used a scrap of parchment and his quill to jot a short note, placing it just on top of the **_El’era'mana_** in the very center of his desk.

 

“Little Snowflake…”  
  
She turned and looked up to see Dorian leaning over the railing, grinning wickedly, and she raced up the stairs. He immediately picked her up and set her on his lap, kissing her cheek.  
 

“Could I adore you more? Probably not,” he cooed, before lifting a book.

“You have remarkably little here on early Tevinter history. All these ‘gifts’ to the Inquisition, and the best they can do is _The Malifica Imperio_? Trite propaganda,” he scoffed, “But if you want twenty volumes on whether Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday, this is evidently the place to find it.”  
 

“That’s my darling Dorian: critiquing every book in my Library.” Eliana smiled.  
 

“I wouldn’t have to if you could find some rebellious, heretic Archivist to join the cause!” He was almost snapping at her.

  
“Are there rebellious heretic Archivists?” She teased lovingly, “Other than you, that is?”  
 

His face softened slightly.

“If Corypheus ever starts burning masterworks of literature, I’ve no doubt a few will pop up,” he sighed, “Did I see something by Genitivi here? I could have sworn….” 

Dorian looked around musingly, brow furrowed. Eliana gently placed a hand on his cheek and guided his eyes back to hers.

  
“What is this about, Dorian, my love?” Her voice was low and gentle.  
 

“You fell into the _Fade_. I thought we’d lost you…” He almost seemed to verge on tears, but that quickly changed, “Don’t you _dare_ ever do that again!”  
 

“Yessir,” she smiled, “I’m sorry.”  
  
  
He sighed dramatically.  
 

“I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive you. I’ll ruminate on it over breakfast.”  
  
He smiled then and they scampered off, giggling like children.

 

  
  
After two Advisory meetings, lunch, and another failure of a dance lesson, Eliana walked out onto the landing at the Hall doors. She looked over to see Cassandra beating Bull with a stick.

_I’ll hold out on that conversation for a moment._  
  
  
She descended the stairs and skirted around to the Herald’s Rest, seeing Sera sitting alone, nursing a flagon of ale.  
 

“Hey Sera,” she plopped down onto the stool beside the archer.  
  
  
“Oi, Inky. Thanks fer not draggin’ me intuh tha Fade,” Sera shuddered slightly, before giggling, “Bull’s not dealin’ wit it…Ya see ‘im and Cassie out ther’?”  
  
“Oh, is that what all that’s about? Huh,” she shrugged, nodding her thanks to Cabot for the wine he set in front of her.  
 

“Yah, as if tha Archdragon-thin’ wassin’ bad enuff, fallin’ intuh tha _friggin’ Fade_? No thanks!”  
 

“Yeah, no kidding.” She nodded grimly.

 

“Anywho, know whatta help?” Sera got a devilish grin on her face.  
  
  
“What?”  
 

“ _Pranks!”  
_

 

  
“...Alright! I’m in!”  
  
Eliana giggled and they downed their drinks, scheming.

 

 

* * *

 

            _Solas—_

_As I’m sure you noticed this morning, my Keeper sent me this book. It’s all our “misinterpreted, childish” Dalish history. I hoped you might read it through and annotate anything you have better insight on. Ame uthaan nuvenal sila. Onharos’or mar,  
                                                                        —Elie_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> El'dirth'vhen'an: Our Native Language  
> El’era'mana: Our history  
> Ame uthaan nuvenal sila: I am forever wanting to learn  
> Onharos’or mar: Astonishingly yours
> 
> s/o to Project Elvhen
> 
> And my usual three fav babies <3 xoxo


	37. Reprehensions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovers spat :(
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!!  
> <3 Muah!

 

Sera and Eliana came running into the Rotunda, giggling mischievously,  
  
  
“Cullys desk’ll drive ‘im mad! Good thin’ we di’n’t break it…”  
  
  
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s sturdy—”

  
  
Solas stood beside the plush velvet chair and small side table right next to the door, and they stopped dead when they noticed him; standing, us usual, with his hands behind his back, and an eyebrow cocked on his otherwise expressionless face.  
  
  
“Oh? And how have you come to be so familiar with the durability of the Commander’s desk, Inquisitor?” His voice was low, almost a growl.  
  
  
“Oooo, shite!” Sera whispered as she looked from Eliana to Solas, eyes and grin wide.  
  
  
“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know, _Hahren_ ,” Eliana purred, holding his stare with a challenging, heavy-lidded gaze, and something playfully like a smirk tugging at the corner of lips.  
  
  
“Come on, Sera,” She curtsied teasingly at him, before taking Sera’s hand and dragging her away.  
  
She glanced back over her shoulder before following Sera through the door, and Solas merely watched her; his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyebrows raised and lips pursed slightly.

 

_Reckless little fox doesn’t know the danger she’s toying with…_  


He went back to the side table and picked up the book she had given him, lifting the cover. He noticed the trace of magic left on the inside of the front cover, and running his fingers over it, he realized that it had—very recently—been lifted and then magic had been used to heat the glue, so it could be replaced unnoticed. It was an old trick he was well acquainted with for sending secret letters. He smiled slightly.

_  
Reckless, clever little fox._

He flipped to the first two stories—ones he found familiar and particularly annoying.

 

* * *

 

 

> _ The Tale of Elgar'nan and the Sun: _
> 
> _Long ago, when time itself was young, the only things in existence were the sun and the land. The sun, curious about the land, bowed his head close to her body, and Elgar'nan was born in the place where they touched. The sun and the land loved Elgar'nan greatly, for he was beautiful and clever. As a gift to Elgar'nan, the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things. Elgar'nan loved his mother's gifts and praised them highly and walked amongst them often._
> 
> _The sun, looking down upon the fruitful land, saw the joy that Elgar'nan took in her works and grew jealous. Out of spite, he shone his face full upon all the creatures the earth had created, and burned them all to ashes. The land cracked and split from bitterness and pain, and cried salt tears for the loss of all she had wrought. The pool of tears cried for the land became the ocean, and the cracks in her body the first rivers and streams._
> 
> _Elgar'nan was furious at what his father had done and vowed vengeance. He lifted himself into the sky and wrestled the sun, determined to defeat him. They fought for an eternity, and eventually the sun grew weak, while Elgar'nan's rage was unabated. Eventually Elgar'nan threw the sun down from the sky and buried him in a deep abyss created by the land's sorrow. With the sun gone, the world was covered in shadow, and all that remained in the sky were the reminders of Elgar'nan's battle with his father—drops of the sun's lifeblood, which twinkled and shimmered in the darkness._
> 
> _ The Tale of Mythal's Touch: _
> 
> _Elgar'nan had defeated his father, the sun, and all was covered in darkness. Pleased with himself, Elgar'nan sought to console his mother, the earth, by replacing all that the sun had destroyed. But the earth knew that without the sun, nothing could grow. She whispered to Elgar'nan this truth, and pleaded with him to release his father, but Elgar'nan's pride was great, and his vengeance was terrible, and he refused._
> 
> _It was at this moment that Mythal walked out of the sea of the earth's tears and onto the land. She placed her hand on Elgar'nan's brow, and at her touch he grew calm and knew that his anger had led him astray. Humbled, Elgar'nan went to the place where the sun was buried and spoke to him. Elgar'nan said he would release the sun if the sun promised to be gentle and to return to the earth each night. The sun, feeling remorse at what he had done, agreed._
> 
> _And so the sun rose again in the sky, and shone his golden light upon the earth. Elgar'nan and Mythal, with the help of the earth and the sun, brought back to life all the wondrous things that the sun had destroyed, and they grew and thrived. And that night, when the sun had gone to sleep, Mythal gathered the glowing earth around his bed, and formed it into a sphere to be placed in the sky, a pale reflection of the sun's true glory._
> 
> **~~~**
> 
>  
> 
> _Da’len,_
> 
> _Your mother was undeniably correct about one thing, at least. T_ _he ancient El’vhen “  
>     gods” were not truly deities—as the Chantry’s Maker is perceived—but rather,  
>             instead, very powerful beings. Whether Mages or Spirits—or something else entirely   
>                un-encountered and forgotten, they had a deep and powerful connection to the Fade,   
>          where they dwelled and spoke to The People through various rituals performed __in_  
>  their temples.                                                                                               

* * *

 

“Tha wus _fun!_ Ladybits, Inquisiter o’ tha people, still remembrin’ yer one-a them.”

  
  
Sera and Eliana had run giggling all the way from the Rookery, now plopped themselves down back in the tavern. Cabot brought them their usual drinks with a grunt.

 

“If it wus all jus’ tha ‘Herald’, serious shite, ya’d star’ ta soun’ prett-y scary,” Sera took a gulp from her flagon, “An’ tha’ works ‘n’ all, bu’ not fer long.”  
  
  
Eliana threw her a grin, shrugging.  
  
  
“Whatever it takes to make people happy….I’d even start throwing pies, if it kept people inspired,” She took a sip of her wine.  
  
  
“ _Pies is so good!_ An’ Coryphenuts woul’ _nevar_ do tha’!” Sera looked dangerously inspired, herself.  
  
“It wus fun chasin’ ya, Inky,” she nudge Eliana, winking, “Nice view!”

  
Eliana’s laughter was interrupted by the tavern door slamming open into the wall.  


 

“ ** _YOU!_** ” Josephine stormed in angrier than Eliana had ever seen her, and she was _drenched._

  
“Oo, frig—” They scampered to their feet, looking at the Ambassador.  
  
  
“She di’ it!!” Sera pointed at Eliana and ran off, cackling.  


 

“Josie?” Eliana approached her, slightly terrified, as the Ambassador shook her head at the fleeing elf.  
  
  
“Oh, you know I don’t blame _you_ , Inquisitor. Are you coming to dinner? I have to go change into some dry clothes….”  
  
  
Eliana nodded, and wrapped an arm around Josephine’s waist; reaching over to grab her wine as they walked back to the Hall together.  


 

At dinner, she sat with Dorian, Bull, Cullen, and Leliana. She had just sat down, and was surprised when Solas took a seat next to her. Cullen was talking to Leliana.  


“I know Sera was in my office, and when I figure out what she’s done, I’ll…I’ll do something back.”  
  
  
He was so cute when he was flustered, and Eliana fought to hide a smile at the prank. She caught a glance from Solas, whose face was blank, but there was some look in his eyes that she couldn’t identify—though it was certainly unnerving.  
  
“She also managed to set a bucket full of water to pour onto Josephine when she opened her office door,” Leliana said, fighting a smile.  
  


“Oh, so _that’s_ why she came stomping through here, dripping water,” Cullen laughed.  
  


“Poor Josie,” Dorian smirked, throwing a knowing glance at Eliana. She fought to control her face.  
 

Solas didn’t speak at all throughout dinner, but when Eliana finished and moved to stand up, saying she was retiring to her quarters for the night, he stopped her.

  
“Inquisitor, if you’re not too tired, I have several books that may assist you in some of your preparation for Empress Celene’s ball.”

  
“Oh, thank you. I’ll be up for a little bit: I never seem to run out of paperwork to catch up on. Can you just bring them up whenever you’re finished eating?”   
  
Eliana was aware that everyone at the table had turned to look at them now.

  
“As you like, Inquisitor.”  


Solas calmly continued eating, and she caught a pointed look from Dorian before saying goodnight to the rest of them; walking to her quarters while fighting a blush.

 

* * *

 

She hadn’t been delusory about having work to do. Solas found her sitting at her desk, already changed into her nightshirt, cradling her head in one hand as the other scratched the quill across the parchment in front of her. Without even looking up, she spoke.

  
“This nonsense is so dreadfully frustrating. It seems completely unnecessary.”

  
“It is one of the many prices of leadership, da’len,” He didn’t approach her, merely stood at the top of the stairs and watched her.

  
She leaned back and stretched her arms over her head, her shirt rising along parallels with his eyes, but she had her head tiled back, her long, milky curls brushing the floor. She lifted her head then and looked at him: as if waiting for him to say something, do something.

 

“Where would you like these?” He held up the books, still across the room from her.

  
She rose and walked over to him; her lovely moonskin smooth over her thighs, her legs—and her small, bare feet soundless in their steps. She lifted the books one at a time, reading each cover before stacking them in her arms, _The Dowager's Field Guide to Good Society_ by Lady Alcyone the last to be placed on top. She set them down on the small table beside them.  
  
  
“Thank you,” she breathed.  
  
 

Solas realized how very close she was to him; looking up at him from under her lashes, her grey-lavender eyes bright. He moved without thinking: gently wrapping the long fingers of a single hand around her throat, pressing his lips to her ear.  
  
“Why do you insist on testing me, ma da’len?” His voice was low and gravelly.  
  


“For the reprehension,” she whispered, and the victorious smile in her voice incensed him.  
  
  
He growled and released her, pushing her away. She looked at him coquettishly, her lips slightly parted, but not quite smiling.   
  


“ _I_ am not _your_ play-thing, _Halesta_.”

  
 

He stormed out of the room, barely composing himself before re-entering the hallway.  
Seeing that the Commander was sitting with Varric—trying to appear indifferent and not as though he was trying to gauge the nature of the relationship between him and the Inquisitor—only served to infuriate Solas further.  
  
Still, he bowed to them as he passed into the Rotunda, continuing to retain his self-possessed, calm demeanor until the door closed behind him and he slammed his fists against his desk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder  
> Ma da'len: My Little One
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it's so short!  
> I'll make up for it, promise.
> 
> xoxoxoxox


	38. Small Gestures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss&Make Up <3
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, as always!
> 
> <3 Muah!!

  
She wasn’t able to sleep. She tossed and turned, but finally gave up. She lit the candle on her bedside and walked to her desk, shuffling through the endless requests. She needed an excuse to get out of Skyhold for a few days—to ride Da’assan fast and hard, to get out and do something other than practice stupid dances and tackle endless paperwork. She went through almost all of the letters before finding the perfect excuse. 

  
  
There had to be at least 6 hours until sunrise, but she didn’t care; she wasn’t going to be sleeping anyway. She left her room, walking down through the Hall and silently slipping through the Rotunda—passing the sleeping form of Solas; his brow furrowed and his face twitching occasionally, looking concerned. She climbed the stairs, passing through the empty library, and up the stairs to the Rookery. There was a single Scout milling around, tending to the ravens.

 

She wasn’t surprised to find Leliana awake, kneeling by the shrine of Andraste she had set up. She approached the Spymaster, making sure her steps were just loud enough to announce her arrival. Leliana looked up at her and stood.  
 

“Inquisitor. I’m…I’ve been thinking. You remember everything now, yes? The explosion at Haven, the Fade, escaping the Breach?” She walked over to her desk, sitting heavily in the chair at her desk, “In your report, you said Justinia was with you—but only you emerged in the end. Why? Why were you the only survivor?”  
 

Eliana felt guilty, but she knew Leliana deserved the whole story.  
 

“She knew it was either her or me,” Eliana sighed, “And…she wanted me to live.”  
 

Leliana looked down, smiling wistfully at her desk.

 

“Yes, of course. Of course she did,” she looked up at Eliana, “That’s just like her.”

The Spymaster’s brow furrowed slightly as she thought.  
  
  
“Her message to me…‘I’m sorry I failed you, too’. I’m not sure I understand,” She looked at her Inquisitor pleadingly then, “Did she say anything else? _Anything_ at all? Please.”

 

“I’m sorry, Leliana,” she took the Nightingale’s hand, “That was it.”  
  
  
“There are no answers in the Fade. Only illusions,” Leliana shook her head slightly, “A warped mirror. Justinia has _never_ failed me. I was her Left Hand, and now she’s dead. _I_ failed _her_.”

  
“She didn’t seem to feel that way. She seemed proud of you.”  
  
Eliana gently set the parchment she had carried up with her on the desk, and Leliana leaned over to read it.  


“You’re wanting to leave for a few days, hmm?”  
  
  
“I could use a break from the dance lessons…and tension.” She smiled shyly and shrugged.  
  
  
“I do not blame you at all,” The spy nodded, “Who would you have accompany you?”  
  
  
“Dorian—of course—and Bull, Varric, Cassandra,” she hesitated slightly, “and Solas.  
  
 

Leliana raised her eyebrows slightly, but nodded anyway, jotting down some notes of the request in front of her.  
 

“Would you let them know for me? I’ll get enough of an earful on the way to the Hinterlands….”

“Of course, Inquisitor, not a problem.” Leliana smiled up at Eliana.

“I’m truly sorry, Leliana….”

 

The Nightingale surprised her by standing and kissing her cheek before looking her in the eye with warmth.  
  
  
“Thank you, Elie. Try to get some rest.”

  
She nodded and thanked her before heading back down the stairs into the Library. She walked to the banister where Dorian always sat, looking down at her sleeping Wolf. He looked so worried, lying there in his repose.  
  
  
She slipped silently down the stairs and approached him slowly. She knelt down onto the floor beside him, and—with significant hesitation—reached out and gently grasped the hand that was splayed across his stomach. Immediately, his fingers gripped her own, and his expression seemed to calm.

 

* * *

 

 

_He hadn’t been able to find her in the Fade, which meant she hadn’t gone to sleep. She shined too brightly there to be missed, especially by Solas.  
Perhaps the _ Commander _had gone to comfort her after all._  
  
He was startled awake abruptly by the sensation of something landing near him. He opened his eyes and began to sit up—but stopped at the sight of Eliana, holding his hand, her head fallen to rest on the divan beside him.

 

Her sleeping face was distressed and her bottom lip quivered. Her body shivered slightly, and he carefully climbed off the divan, lifting and placing her where he had just lain. He looked around briefly, but before he could think, a blanket fluttered down from the top of the Rotunda. He barely glimpsed Leliana’s fleeting figure, but he smiled as he covered the tiny woman in the borrowed blanket, still holding her hand in his own. He sat on the floor beside her, and opened a book he had been reading before he fell asleep.

 

Just before dawn, one of Leliana’s people approached him, looking nervously at the sleeping Inquisitor behind him. The scout silently handed him a missive and left the Rotunda.

 

* * *

 

 

> _M._ _Solas,_
> 
> _The Inquisitor has requested your presence for a short assignment to the Hinterlands. The Winterwatch Tower region has been taken up as residence for a Cult of Andraste believing that end times have arrived. The Inquisition is worried that, if left to their own devices, lives may be lost. Departure from Skyhold will be immediately following breakfast; your mounts and supplies will be ready at the stables. The estimated length of this excursion is approximately three days. The Inquisitor apologizes for the short notice and thanks you for your assistance._
> 
> _—Leliana._

* * *

He chuckled slightly; Eliana had decided this trip in the middle of the night, and had roped the Nightingale into delivering the news to whomever she was dragging along, knowing they would be less than pleased at the last-minute departure.

 

His chuckle had woken her, and she slowly opened her eyes with a few heavy blinks. Her hair was mussed, and her face had the lines of the divan fabric pressed into it: she was beautiful.

 

“Hahren?” her voice was raspy from sleep, and she seemed confused.  
  
  
“Emma lath, how long had you been sitting on the floor?” he smiled, keeping his tone gentle.

 

“Mm,” she stretched her arms languidly, arching her back slightly as she thought, “A while, I suppose…. You had looked so troubled, but you seemed more serene when I sat beside you.”  
  
She wasn’t yet fully awake, talking the same way she was thinking, without any of her usual carefully-chosen response. He chuckled again.  
  
  
“So, we are off to the Hinterlands this morning?”  
  
  
“Yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes gently, “A Cult of Andraste.”

 

“So I read. The castle will be waking soon. You should go dress.” She seemed more alert at this; sitting up, aware that she was still in her nightshirt, and how it would look to be seen lying here in such.  
  
  
“I’ll go first to the kitchens and have them send you up some tea,” he smiled, rising slowly. She followed him to the door as he peeked out, but the Hall was still empty, so he stood aside for he.  
  
  
“Go on,” he placed a hand at the small of her back, nudging her on.  
  
  
She placed a hand on his shoulder and raised herself on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on his bottom lip, before pulling the blanket tightly around herself and dashing towards her quarters. He smiled as he watched her bare feet made no sound on the stone floor.  
  


* * *

 

Eliana dressed in her riding clothes and quickly stuffed a few more leggings, shirts, and coats into her rucksack. She grabbed her journal from under the mattress, pulling out the letter from Deshanna before shoving the book into sack, covering it with her scarf.  
  
She read the letter quickly, before holding it to the small flame still in the fireplace—watching as it disintegrated.  As she looked about to see if there was anything else she needed to pack, she heard a knock on the door.  
 

“Come in,” she called out as she dug through her wardrobe to grab the small-clothes she had previously overlooked.

  
“I have your tea, ma Halevune.” She was surprised to see Solas standing next to the settee.

 

She quirked an eyebrow in question as she walked towards him, pushing the smalls into the bag sitting beside him.  
  
  
“When I asked for someone to take your tea up to you, the cook told me her staff was either busy or still asleep, and I could ‘take it my damn self’.” Eliana laughed at his politely expressionless face as he quoted the impatient culinarian.

“Ma serannas, Vhenan. I’m sorry you had to go through the trouble,” she smiled.

“It is no trouble. You slept very little, and we have a ride to take,” he nodded to her and began down the steps, “I have to gather my things. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

 

Eliana finished her tea quickly as she grabbed a few more things and lifted her staff from the mantle before bouncing down the stairs. She was rather surprised to find her requested companions already seated at a table and eating their breakfast.

  
“Mornin’, Boss,” Bull smiled, and the rest of her friends looked up parroting his greeting as she sat herself down.

“Listen, I’m sorry about this—”

  
“Actually, Inquisitor,” Cassandra cut her off, “We were just talking, and we are actually glad of it. We have been becoming restless with so little to do.”  
  
“Though, a little more warning would’ve been nice,” Varric grumbled, but smiling anyway.

 

“Maybe these Cultists will have a few books I haven’t read already,” Dorian mused, hopeful.”  
  
“Perhaps,” Solas looked at him, “But I am doubtful of it.” They shared a smirk, and Eliana felt wary.

  
“Okay, who are all of you, and what have you done with my friends?”

They all laughed warmly, and Dorian leaded over and kissed her cheek.

  
“Can’t you feel it? It’s going to be a good day. We’re just in high spirits; don’t worry, it shouldn’t last long,” he teased.  
  
  
She laughed a little, and dug into her porridge—the cook had topped it with brown sugar and blackberries, and set it out with a small ramekin of cream; just the way she liked it.

  
Maybe Dorian was right. Maybe it was going to be a good day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

> _Da’len,  
>    
>  _
> 
> _Galifalon i Taralani tel’tath shirem da'lav'hasal siljosa'sha or saota. Ma juea sathem dirthala isa'mar'lin nuven melena vis ma ela saltuatha i em'an vyr’melava, vis telir man. Etha, i vallasa shem'el. Mythal'enaste._
> 
> — _Amelan D._

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder  
> Emma lath: My love  
> Ma’ halevune: my Moon-fox  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Tel’tath shirem: have not yet undergone/journeyed  
> Da'lav'hasal siljosa'sha: the hand-binding ritual act  
> Or saota: of marriage  
> Ma juea sathem dirthala: You will be please to know/learn  
> Isa'mar'lin: Your brother (lit. his blood is your blood)  
> Nuven melena: Wishes to wait  
> Vis ma ela: In the case you would be able to  
> Saltuatha i em'an: Rejoin us  
> Vyr’melava: Soon (lit. nearby time)  
> Vis telir man: If only briefly/a small time.  
> Etha: Be safe  
> I vallasa shem'el: And write with haste  
> Mythal'enaste: Mythal’s favor  
> Amelan: Keeper
> 
>  
> 
> <3<3<3 xoxoxox


	39. Opinions and Oaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Monday, so you deserve this:  
> We're Goin' to the Hinterlands  
> and We're Gonna Get:  
> Rather Suggestive Fluff,  
> More fluff, and then  
> SMUT!
> 
> ^Sung to the Tune of Goin' to the Chapel.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!!  
> My amazing little herd of kittens <3 Muah! <3

  
Solas couldn’t put his finger on what it was, exactly, but from the moment she mounted Da’assan, he couldn’t take his eyes off Eliana. There was something about the way she moved today that seemed…different.   
Even more graceful than usual, and ( _by Mythal!)_ sensual: her rolling hips at Da’assan step, her hair piled loosely atop her head, her lips parted ever so slightly when she drifted into her own thoughts. Every movement she made, every laugh at a comment by Varric or Dorian, every flirty glance over her shoulder at him—it all made him want to tear her apart. He wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh, to make her scream his name, and suck the moans from her lips. And, unlike usual, she was not purposely teasing him. She was just…being Eliana.   
  
_Or, maybe, today she is being Halesta…_  
  


“You are quiet, Solas,” She had slowed Da’assan to ride alongside him.

“Unless I have something to say, I usually am, Inquisitor,” He kept his expression blank, but looked to see she had brought along one of the books he had lent her.  
  
“Which book is that?” He nodded towards it. It sat between a saddle strap and the saddle.  
  
“But, The _Dowager's Field Guide to Good Society_ by Lady Alcyone of course, darling,” she proclaimed haughtily, in her best Vivienne imitation. Cassandra was close enough to hear her, and snorted slightly, laughing.  
  
“You best not allow Dorian to see that,” Solas teased, “He’d be appalled to see _his_ library books taken out into the field where they could be damaged.”  
  
“Ha, yes, until I find a, quote, ‘rebellious, heretic Archivist’ to assume the responsibility he has taken upon himself, I fear we all must be careful of his wrath!”   
  
She was in a very pleasant mood, all smiled and jokes. Cassandra had been right, this morning. Eliana needed a show of support from them as a group, instead of their constantly squabbling—even if it was only a day or two. He was glad to see the Seeker’s plan was working.   
  
“Is it entertaining?” He directed her back to the book.

“Not in the least, but it is educational, though the education provided seems to be ridiculous. I understand The Game: the point, the reasoning. It’s polite warfare, in Sea silk ball gowns and bejeweled-doublets. But some of the _rules_ are laughable.”

“An example?” He didn’t want her to stop talking. She grabbed the book and lifted a page she had marked with a length or ribbon.  
  
“Victory in the Grand Game is not merely determined by what one has at one's command, one's connections, and one's machinations, but what one is willing to give up,” she read aloud, “The clearest example is the Caprice: each coin is traditionally a gift. They were once tokens of regard, favors for chevaliers from their lovers or patrons. Throwing them into a fountain was rooted in superstition: the token was offered as a sacrifice, a bribe to Andraste to keep the chevalier safe on the battlefield.”   
  
She looked at him now, and he nodded for her to go on.

"The more one had to offer to the waters, the better one's chances of escaping the caprices of fate—hence the name,” She shook her head now and glanced at him again, “ _This_ is where it gets absurd: ‘Over time, the superstitious aspects of the custom faded; now the Caprice is a mark of status. The more coins one has, the more public the spectacle of throwing them away: the stronger one's position in the Game.’”

“The show of wealth and power has always been an influential, and often necessary, device in the Courts of Empires,”

“Yes, of course, but why is it always in some manner that is beneficial _to_ that empire, instead of spending good money on coins for the sole-purpose of discarding them? How does that show any importance? It serves in no way to better the standing of one’s political goals, or help the plight of one’s people,” her voice was scornful, “What is the difference from tossing away their _actual_ money?”  
  
“There is none, and that is rather the point,” Solas countered.  
  
“Yes, yes. Money _is_ power,” she conceded, “You are ever the polemicist, Hahren. Please don’t think me naïve of how the world works. I just disapprove of it.”  
  
“You are anything but naïve, Inquisitor,” his voice low and intimate, “And enough disapproval can have the power to eventually tame any veniality.   
  
She visibly flustered, and his desire—to capture her, to enthrall and please and give her release—intensified almost unbearably.   
  
“Yes,” she purred demurely, surprising him, “but I’m not the kind to tame a wild thing. I have sometimes even been the wild one attempts to tame.”

“That is because you are not a thing to be taken,” his voice a heady whisper, “You are a woman who must decide to give herself over; otherwise, you cannot be claimed.”

A look came over her—something empowered and eager, shining behind her lilac eyes. She gave him a sly smile.

“Sahl'in ar shathe vaslasa, Vhenan.”   
  
She declared it, not whispering, but at her natural volume. And even though no one else knew what she had said, he felt the magnitude of the gesture in his heart—and the heated implication of the words in his core.

 

* * *

 

Eliana felt a relief, and a thrill, for what she should have admitted to Solas before. She meant her words, and though it still scared her, she was glad to have the burden of them lifted from her tongue. They had stopped for lunch, and now were only about an hour out from the Dwarfson’s Pass camp. Since the Mages had now been accepted as allies, there wasn’t the widespread fighting that was rampant during Eliana’s first introduction to the Hinterlands. It was much more peaceful, and the air was warm: it felt like spring. Dorian and Varric were seeing who could shoot passing targets more accurately from horseback (via magic and Bianca, respectively, of course), while Bull played judge. Cassandra and Solas talked amicably behind her.

“Solas, did you ever considered reforming the Circle from within? You have both knowledge and wisdom,” Cassandra’s complimentary tone, surprising, “You could have made the difference.”

“I admire your optimism, Lady Seeker, but ask yourself honestly how the Templars would have reacted,”

“You fear that they would have made you tranquil.”

“There is no doubt in my mind,” Solas sighed, “My studies threaten established ideas. I would never have been tolerated.” 

“I suppose you are right,” Cass sounded wistful, “Repairing the damage done will take great effort.”  
  
“Would there be more like you, Seeker.”  
  
Eliana turned around to see their shared smile, and felt her chest swell with love for her friends. They had all so seamlessly transitioned: from captors and misfit travelling companions with a (generally) common goal, to being some of the most important people—most dearly-held relationships—she’d ever known. Even Vivienne and she had grown fond of one another.   
  
“Lady Cassandra,” Eliana heard Solas speak again, “Do you mind if I borrow the Inquisitor for a short time?”

She slowed Da’assan and turned to look at him. Her opinion on any glyphs would hardly be worth anything; she was not an expert on anything, aside from, perhaps, Dalish culture and hunting. But even then….   
  
“I would like her opinion on some glyphs I have heard about nearby,” She caught his eye and, though his expression didn’t waver, there was a curious glint in his eye. “We would, of course, meet you at camp by dinner.” 

“By all means,” Cassandra fought to hide a knowing smile as she looked at Eliana, “That is, if the Inquisitor doesn’t mind?”  
  
“Any assistance I can offer is at your disposal, Solas,” she nodded, turning Da’assan around, keeping her face politely and pleasantly curious.   
  
  
They headed off at a slight angle away from the others, managing to get out of sight before Varric, Bull, or Dorian could notice and comment.  
  
“So, _you_ want _my_ opinion on glyphs?” She laughed, dubiously.   
  
“Not my best artifice, admittedly,” he chuckled, glancing at her sidelong.

“What is?” She prodded teasingly, though she knew it was a long-shot.

“If you haven’t figured it out yet, then I’m doing fairly well, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned wolfishly.

“Mm, perhaps,” she smiled, glancing around, “So, where _are_ we going?”   
  
They were in a particularly rocky area; cliffs and hills topped with grass and evergreens, and a pleasant breeze caressed the back of her neck.  
  
“We are, in fact, going to some glyphs, but nothing I need your opinion on. They are more monuments for Tyrdda Bright-Axe, Avvar Mother, like the ones we’ve seen before.” His tone implied that he would not be answering any more questions, and he casually kept his eyes forward.   
  
She was surprised to find that she didn’t feel in any danger, though his motive was unknown and he had lured her away from any protection she might have had. He led her up a rather steep incline, but manageable enough for their mounts to get a foothold, to the top of a grassy plateau, peppered with tall trees granting cool shade. He dismounted at the glyphs, tying up his mount, before offering his hand to help her down. When she dismounted, he took his time calmly tying Da’assan next to Fenvir, before gently grasping her hand, and leading just out of sight of the horses—to a small, shaded swath behind some low hedges. 

_Oh…._   
  
  


* * *

 

  
Solas didn’t wait for her to question why he had brought her here. He instantly turned to kiss her; pulling her body against his, sweeping his tongue across her bottom lip, and inhaling the moan it pulled from her lungs. She was suddenly undone: grasping desperately at his clothes, a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss. She shuddered at his every movement, keened at every touch—never before had she been so abandoned and vehemently vocal for him, and he relished it.   
He gently lowered her to the grass, pinning her with the weight of his body as she struggled to press herself harder into him. He pulled back slightly, and she lifted her head in attempt to find him again. He allowed her lips to barely brush his own before pulling further back, as she tried and failed to follow. He lowered his head towards her again, and she moved to meet him, only to have his tongue skirt briskly the O of her open mouth before retreating away again. Her whine of frustration inflamed him, and he grazed the delicate flesh of her neck with his lips, moving up to her ear with a hiss.

“You know now how _unpleasant_ it is to be teased, _Halevune’udh._ ”  
  
“ _Ir abelas_ , Vhenan—Sathan, mar lanaste….” She panted, breathless.

“Emma _arulin_ lath?” He whispered, his lips placed gently against her neck. 

“ _Ar shivasa!_ Ame mar u gira, latha—vis ma nuvena em?”  
  
“ _Vin,_ ” he growled, biting hard into her moonsilk neck, and dragging a gasp from her.   
  
He collected her her, undressing her slowly with gentle affection, laying her bare before him on the sun-speckled grass and, just for a moment, taking in the beauty and wonder of this gift of her—a priceless offering she had given so freely. And then he took his prize with fervor, leaving no inch of her quivering flesh un-kissed, un-bitten, un-tasted. She writhed and pleaded and begged, but was muttering wordlessly.  
He lifted his lips back up to hers, kissing her hard.

“ _Halesta. Look at me_ ,” he ordered, and her eyelids fluttered open, and her chin tilted down slight, submissively.

“Ahn mar pal'isalathe?”  
  
“ _Sathan, Solas…_ ” She mewled, but it was barely a whisper.  
  
“Ahn, Halesta?” His voice demanding, dominating. 

“Fuck me,” she breathed—and somehow, the clipped nature of the Common tongue made it sound _so much more_ arousing; something in him snapped.

He pulled her up to face him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he slid into her with a growl. She cried out, running her nails over his scalp and down his back sharply. He could feel himself stretching her mercilessly over his cock, gathering her wrists above her head, and rocking…torturously slow, taking his time as he built the pace, watching her lovely face as she broke for him, moaning and gasping. Finally, he could restrain himself no longer; urgently shoved her back to the ground so he could better leverage his thrust, pounding against her as wantonly as she steadily plead, ‘ _yes, yes’—_  
And she came so violently, contracting around him with such force, that he, himself, saw sparks of color across his vision as his climax followed.  
  


He lay there on the grass with her, both gasping for air, their bodies glistening and sticky with sweat and each other. She reached her hand out for his, and he took it, turning to look at her. Her naked form, delicate and soft on the ground beneath them, radiant with the afterglow of her peak; silken moonskin dappled with roses of his bites, and her hair, now tousled loose, a cream tangle of curls across her face and breasts. She was divine, and he would remember her in the moment for the rest of his days.

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she breathed heavily, her voice sultry and gravelly and reverent.

“Ar lath ma, Halesta.”

 

* * *

 

By some miracle, Solas _had_ managed to get them to the Dwarfson’s Pass camp by dinner. Solas had laughed when Eliana re-mounted Da’assan, immediately wincing in pain. He continued to chuckle the whole ride to camp, as she constantly shifted uncomfortably.

  
“You won’t be laughing when Cassandra asks why I’m too sore to walk or ride,” she quipped.  
  
“I would not bet against me, were I you,” he grinned back, roguishly.   
  
“Whatever, you’re the one who will have to heal me.” She tossed her head and lifted her chin defiantly.   
  
“I am very much looking forward to doing so,” He struggled to compose his face, unable to shake his smile.  
  
When they finally got to camp, they were met with a chorus of Woo’s and cheers from their friends and scouts—and even some applause from Varric. Her face flushed crimson, and she winced at the ache, but she couldn’t help herself from grinning. The teasing and jokes went on into the night—even Cassandra chimed in, smiling and nudging her playfully. Dorian dramatically fanned himself, every now and then whenever Eliana and Solas were caught sharing a glance. And maybe the best part for her was that he didn’t seem to mind at all; if anything, he appeared quietly proud.

  
It _had_ been a _very_ good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahren: Elder  
> Da'len: Little One  
> Sahl'in ar shathe vaslasa: Now, I happily submit (lit. allow chains)  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Halevune’udh: Little Moon-fox  
> Ir abelas: My apologies, I am sorry  
> Sathan, mar lanaste: Please, grant your forgiveness.   
> Emma arulin: My personal/private/precious/important (lit. my alone blood)  
> Lath: love   
> Ar shivasa*: I swear fealty/give an oath   
>  (*specifically swearing an oath that is either forever, or will end in your death)  
> Ame mar u gira, latha: I am yours alone to own/have, to love  
> Vis ma nuvena em: If you want/wish/desire me  
> Vin: Yes  
> Ahn mar pal'isalathe: What your need/sexual desire  
> Ar lath ma: I love you
> 
> My usual gratitude to Project Elvhen,
> 
> **And Special Love For:**  
> [ **A_Dubious_Dream**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Dubious_Dream/pseuds/A_Dubious_Dream), [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), [**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose) **juliaxsnyder,** , & [**WritingIllusions**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingIllusions/pseuds/WritingIllusions)
> 
> You guys need to hear "Wing Beneath My Wings"   
> every time you read one of my chapters,  
> cause forreal. <3 xoxoxox


	40. The Color of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana notices some weird   
> phenomena going on with her   
> Anchor, Solas does something  
> sweet, and Eliana has a dress  
> fitting for the Winter Palace....
> 
> (spoiler alert: she complains the whole time)  
> I also included a crappy sketch of her  
> complaining, because my writer's block  
> won't go away, so I've been doodling  
> instead.
> 
> Thank you for reading,   
> my delicate little baby fawns <3  
> Muah!!!

 

For a Cult of Andraste believing that no _elf_ could be the Herald, their “Speaker” had been all-too willing to let the Inquisition inside. Eliana guessed the woman was willing to try anything to be free of the Rift in the cave at the back of their small fortress. She had only received minor scratches and burns: closing that Rift had been easier than any before it. Having successfully recruited the Cult to the Inquisition, they had returned back to camp several hours before dinner.

Eliana sat now, a little ways away from the others, studying the Anchor on her left hand. It had mostly stabilized, according to Solas—but it still glowed ominously, crackling and sparking at the oddest moments; she didn’t even need to be near a Rift or demon. For now, it was dimmer than usual; giving off the green glimmer she had come to learn was Fade magic: the same green of Solas’s magic, for obvious reasons. Dorian’s was a bright purple, like distant lightning in night sky clouds—and Vivienne’s was a bold blue, like most Circle Mages, only more royal than pale.   
She wondered what color her own magic was; whether it was the same green as Solas’s—due to the Anchor—or the fiery titian like her mother’s. She ran her fingers over the Mark, and though the lines and callouses of her palm was still tactual…there was the odd sensation of dipping her fingers through lukewarm water to feel them. The Anchor suddenly came alive again, spitting and popping and she snatched away the fingers of her right hand fearfully.   
  
“Ane nual, da’len?” Solas had appeared, as only he seemed able, without her noticing.   
She looked up at him, and realized the hum of the Anchor—like a purring cat at the return of its master—as well as a slight magnetism towards him; similar to the sensation she felt at Rifts or the Breach, but as strong so that it physically pulled her.

_Curious. I wonder…it’s merely his connection to the Fade?_   
  


“Din, I was just thinking how much easier that Rift was to close than any others have been. And then, it did this.” She nodded down at its continued crackle.

“Perhaps your control over it has strengthened, and has grown to acknowledge your attention,” he offered his postulation with his usual carefully-managed expression of detached curiosity.   
  
“Maybe,” she looked into the Anchor, willing it to calm, but to no effect.

“It causes no discomfort at all?” He sat beside her now, running his own fingers over the Mark, and it ceased its crackling. She noted his continued command over it, but feigned inattention.

“It sometimes feels like—you know when you’ve cut off blood circulation to your hand or foot without noticing, and when you adjust and it returns, there’ll be a prickling sensation?” He nodded, understanding.

“That’s it, though. Unless someone like Corypheus or Erimond does…whatever it is they do. Then there are intense shooting pains, like lightning streaking up my veins.” She shrugged.

“I truly wish there was something I could do to prevent that,” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “But there is not, short of removing your arm.” 

He lifted her hand then, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.  
  


“What color is my magic?” She hadn’t thought before she asked, and Solas appeared confused.

“What do you mean?” His voice was genuinely curious.

“Well, yours is green, like all Fade magic. Dorian’s is purple. Vivienne’s is blue; all Circle Mages’ are, you’ve seen that hers is more vibrantly so; not as pale.” She explained like he knew this already, but his eyebrows were raised. 

“You can see the _color_ of different magic?” His tone was intrigued, but she was aware now that this was uncommon.  
  


“And you can’t. So there’s something wrong with me.” Her eyes searched distantly, trying to understand.

“It’s not something I’ve heard of before, aside from when your Anchor closes the Rifts. We can all _feel_ the differences in style and method of another Mage—but you can _see_ it….” He was looking at her in the same way he looked at old Elvhen artifact: like something to be studied. And Eliana did not like it. 

“Were you able to see it before the Anchor?”   
  
“Yes. Even before I came into my own magic. I remember my mother’s was an almost-orange scarlet; brighter than Corypheus’s or Livius’s dark red, which is more like wine. I thought everyone could, so I never thought to mention it.” She looked at him warily, warning him to tread lightly.

But Solas only smiled at her, like she was some unique and wondrous thing—a new animal he had never seen before. Then his brows furrowed slightly. 

  
“I would not discuss—”

“After _your_ reaction, Hahren, I won’t be mentioning it again to anyone. I know when I’ve volunteered dangerous information, and I’ve done it too much since I’ve been here.” Her expression was steely and embittered, and she glared at her feet.

He grasped her chin and lifted her face to look at him, and she saw a warmth and adoration in his eyes that she couldn’t recall seeing before.   
  
  
“Da’len, you are the most remarkable thing I have ever known,” he whispered, and despite herself, she felt comfort in the rush of warmth he brought to her face as he kissed her lips.

 

* * *

 

It was not long before daylight, and normally she would be waking him at this time, tracing the features of his face before running her hands over him, as if to memorize the topography of his body. But this morning Solas woke to find Eliana not in their tent.  
  
_Why am I not surprised?_   
  
He sighed, pulling on his leggings and shirt. He stepped out of the tent and greeted the Scout on watch as they rekindled the night’s fire.  
  
“Do you happen to know where the Inquisitor went off to?”  
  
“Sorry, Messere. I didn’t even see her leave,” the man looked nervous, as if he were in trouble.  
  
“Do not trouble yourself. She has a particular talent for not being seen when she does not wish. You are not accountable for her actions,” Solas sighed and looked around, heading towards the direction she was mostly likely to have chosen.

 

He found her atop a particularly steep cliff side, sitting on a tree branch in her typical night-shirt and bare feet, looking down into the canyon below. She held several stalks of Royal Elfroot and was looking pensive.

“You know, Galifalon has postponed his _saota._ ” She didn’t seem surprised at his arrival, and Solas could now see that she had a view of the campsite from here.

“Ahnsul?” 

“He wants to know if I might be able to attend if he waits,” She smiled wistfully at the herbs in her hand, “And it is the greatest pain to know I can’t.”

“You are close to your brother.” It was a statement. He remembered her speaking to Varric on their first excursion to the Hinterlands: the pride in her voice as she spoke of her younger sibling. 

“Is sasha arulin’len,” She looked at Solas, wide-eyed, “All I have left of who I was.”  
  
  
“Ar eolasa, da’len,” he said gently, “Come back to camp. We leave soon, and you need to dress—as much as I prefer you as this. You have the Scout on duty scared for his life for slipping away without his notice.”  
  
She laughed gently and dropped from the tree, barely landing lightly on her feet before striding over to his side, taking his hand in hers. She smelled of rosewater and bark and the Royal Elfroot she had gathered. They walked back to camp, and she slipped into their tent. He jotted down a quick letter and handed it to the Scout, quietly ordering the man to have it dispatched immediately, and as he watched the Raven fly off, he sighed. An unnecessary danger to encourage, all for the sake of giving her some small happiness….

 

* * *

 

> N—                                                                                                                   
>  As C is already aware: E’s brother is to be wed. He has postponed the ceremony in the hopes that E might safely be present. There is no set date yet, and I am requesting the favor of your assistance in helping her to reunite with her only sibling—just for the ritual and no longer. Perhaps after the mission to H, we might be able to secure her passage? E has worked tirelessly for the cause, and I am confident in my assumption that you also believe she deserves a minute moment of joy in such uncertain times. Your influence on J and C is greater than my own, and I hope you will be able and willing to make this possible. My gratitude.  
>                                                                          —S
> 
>  

* * *

 

Eliana found herself inexplicable tired by their return to Skyhold. Da’assan seemed reluctant to enter the stables, as if she knew this had been her last outing for a while. Eliana murmured in Elvhen sweetly to her horse as they rode through the gates: thanking her for her patience, apologizing for her time in the stables, assuring her that she was loved and respected, offering her lumps of sugar. Cassandra was looking at her like she had become a little unhinged as she unpacked her own mount.

“Inquisitor, you are strange sometimes,” Cass softened her words with a warm smile.

“No one likes to feel cooped up, Cass. You of all people should understand that. And when dedicated to a cause, though unknowingly, not even horses want to feel useless.”

“I have no doubt you are right,” the warrior woman said, eyeing the fortress dejectedly, drawing a laugh from Eliana.

“Think the only person _less_ excited about the Winter Palace than me is you, Cass.”

“I have no doubt you are right about _that_ , either.” Eliana watched Cassandra’s pursed lips and followed her gaze to see Josie hurrying towards them.

She shrugged at her friend, doing her best Cullen voice. 

“To work, then?”  
  


“Inquisitor, we were hoping you’d be back sooner, the seamstress is waiting for you! And Cassandra, your fitting is first thing in the morning,” Josie had already begun dragging Eliana towards the Hall, and had to call over her shoulder for Cass. 

“I am not wearing a dress!” Cass shouted after them, to her amusement. She grinned at the diplomat’s shaking head.  
  
 

“Me either, Josie. Seriously. If I’m going to have to fight someone—which I have no doubt I will—I will not be wearing a dress.”  
  
Solas was walking slightly behind them with Varric and chuckled slightly, enough to make Eliana toss him a look.  
  
“I think you would look lovely in a green silk, Inquisitor,” Josephine crooned, trying to change her mind.  
  
“I think you will look lovely in whatever you wear, Inquisitor,” Solas murmured to her as they entered the Hall, just before passing them and turning into the Rotunda.

 

“I believe our Apostate has a crush on you,” Josie smirked at her, but Varric’s laugh came sharply behind them as he sat in his favorite chair and propped his feet up on the table.  
  
“I’d say more than that!” The dwarf grinned smugly as Eliana’s glance shot daggers.  
  
“Anyway, Fitting! Let us go! Scoot-scoot!”   
  
The Ambassador shooed Eliana up to her quarters where Vivienne and Leliana were waiting, and Dorian soon joined them. The seamstress was the same woman who had taken her measurements for her clothes when she first got to Skyhold.

 

“Madame Faucon,” She smiled and curtsied, albeit, a bit wobbly.

_Riding legs..._   
  


“Lady Inquisitor! I have brought some dresses for you to try on, so we can find which will suit you best. They will be a bit big—they are my cousin’s daughter’s—but they are from this season.”

Eliana looked at the dresses on the bed, and internally groaned, picking up the least offensive-looking one and going into the storage room to change. Josephine followed her in and helped her into the dress.

 

“Inquisitor! You are stunning!” Josie clasped her hands together in front of her mouth before dragging her back out for the rest to see.   
  
By that time, Dorian had joined them, and Sera had apparently talked him into bringing her with him, somehow. Eliana could barely walk the petticoats were so stiff, and she kept having to look down to make sure the dress wasn’t gaping and showing off her small breasts. The seamstress quickly helped her up onto the box (she had to practically be lifted, as she couldn’t move her legs), and pinned the dress here and there so they could see what it would look like, fitted. It was a lovely emerald green with a high silver collar in the back and flattened into a hem at the ( _way too low)_ neckline; hitting just above her belly button.  
  
“While that _is_ extremely flattering, my dear, I believe that neckline might be a bit risqué for a ball being held for _Peace_ talks,” Vivienne’s lips were pursed and she looked to Dorian, who nodded, flapping his hand.  
  
“No, no. She could barely walk! And, while I _do_ love that color green on you, my plum, that silver won’t do. You need something in white and gold…and perhaps a hint of red.”  
  
Vivienne whole-heartedly agreed, and Eliana was lifted back down and hobbled her way back to the storage room as Josie followed with the next dress.

“Oh, I can remake any of these styles with whichever fabric and colors you wish,” She heard the seamstress reassure the others as Josephine helped her out of that dress and into the new one. It was another high collar with hoop skirts, pointed bell-sleeves, and a strange corset that seemed to put her chest on display. 

_What is with the high collars?_   
  


“I feel ridiculous,” She called out before Josie could squeeze the air out of her lungs, lacing up the corset.   
  
Everyone in the next room had a laugh, and as she walked out, gasping for air and helped onto the box (she was 2 for 3 on walking on the hem; she was too short for these human’s dresses) she managed to pull in enough air to have a say.  
  
“How am I supposed to fight in hoop skirts and unable to breathe?”  
  
“Inquisitor,” Josie scolded, “Your invitation from Duke Gaspard specified that you wear ball attire. Plus, your appearance will be judged by all of Orlais! You cannot wear trousers.”   
  
Vivienne nodded, while Dorian seemed to be writing or something, not paying attention. Sera was laughing, and Leliana was holding back a smirk.

“Sera, go get Cassandra. I need a voice of reason….” Eliana swayed a little, feeling dizzy.  
  
“Come, Inquisitor; perhaps I laced it a bit tight,” The Antivan practically carried her back to the storage room and immediately loosened the laces, as Eliana regained her breath with a gasp.  
  


She put on the final dress, which had a _silver metal_ corset, edged with gold, and a slightly lower collar. There was only one hoop, but it was at the hem. Josephine was careful not to tighten the laces too much, and so far, this was the most comfortable dress, but ultimately, not going to cut it. She walked back out just as Sera returned up the stairs with Cassandra.

“No, no, no. There’s a hoop at the hem! She can’t fight like that.” The Seeker immediately spoke up.

“What’s all this about fighting? It’s a ball!” The seamstress seemed to take it all very personally.  
  
“We’re trying to prevent the assassination of Empress Celine,” Eliana said glibly to the woman, who looked shocked.

“Inquisitor—!” Josie started, but Eliana cut her off.  
  
“She’s not going to tell anyone, are you?” She looked to the woman who vigorously shook her head no, “And anyway, if she does, we’ll just have Leliana’s people kill her and anyone she told.”   
  
Leliana smiled at her, getting it was merely a scare-tactic, and Eliana shrugged.

“Please understand, it’s nothing personal, Madame,” she touched the woman’s arm gently, “All of your dresses are gorgeous and of the _finest_ quality, but I have a responsibility to Thedas. You understand, right?”  
  
“Of course, my Lady Inquisitor.” The woman curtsied, looking slightly less offended.

“I’m afraid to say it, Josephine, dear, but our Seeker is right. She can’t fight in hoops, no matter how in fashion they are. Right, Dorian, darling?” Vivienne sighed, nudging the Inquisitor’s best friend, who finally looked up.  
  
“Oh, Maker, _no_. Look Vivienne, what if it were something like this?” He slid the paper he had been marking on over to the Enchanter, whose eyes lit up and showed it to the Seeker.  
  
“Madame Faucon, could you perhaps do something like this?” Dorian took the page back from Cassandra after she and Leliana nodded their approval, handed it to the seamstress; Josephine stood beside him looking impressed, as he pointed to different things as he spoke. Eliana couldn’t see the design or turn her body much, but everyone seemed very enthusiastic about it.  
  


“It would be a pull-away skirt, and the gathering at the hip would not only hide that it was two separate pieces, but the blouse underneath would give the skirt a fuller appearance without the hoops or petticoats. And we could have a simple branch broach made to hold the skirt in place, with two more clips here…and here. And the leggings would be red, and—there—could be red, and this and this here would be just a hint of gold. Then we could keep the neckline a modest, square-cut, and have it low in the back.” 

“An’ if she ‘ad ta figh’, onea us could jus’ ‘old tha skirt, or stow it!” Sera piped.

 

“What do you think, doll?” Dorian handed it to her.

“Perfect. You’re a genius, and I love you,” She kissed his cheek hard, barely glancing at the sketch, but grateful she’d technically be wearing leggings.

The seamstress looked skeptical, and luckily Leliana noticed. 

“You would, of course, receive full credit for the commission if it is well received,” The Nightingale cooed persuasively.  
  
“And if it is not?” Madame Faucon quipped. 

“I say I brought it from a Dalish clan.” Eliana shrugged, compromising for the earlier death-threat. 

“Mm. Okay. But you must also purchase the slippers through me.” The woman tilted her chin up, defiantly.

“Happily! But those with definitely require some special additions too….” Josie had finally come around, and specified they would need to be obsidian-tipped, but hidden under a layer of red fabric, and padded well enough to protect the Inquisitor’s toes; also, a small blade needed to be hidden in the outside of the heel.   
  
  
Eliana smiled at how notoriously "hands-on" her fighting style had become, and at how clever her friends were for adapting to it. She didn’t smile for long, though, because after the order had been placed and Josie helped her out of that last dress, she had to stand for three hours on the box while the seamstress meticulously re-measured every inch of her body. 

Luckily Dorian, at least, had stuck around to read aloud to her.

 

* * *

 

 

                                                       

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ane nual: Are you in pain/hurting/aching  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Din: No  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Saota: Marriage, bonding.  
> Ahnsul: Why, beacause?  
> Is sasha arulin’len: He alone is of my own/personal blood  
> Ar eolasa: I understand
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry I'm so crappy lately...  
> Hopefully I'll snap out of my funk soon.  
> ily xoxoxox <3


	41. Learning a Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-descriptive!
> 
> Sorry the chapter is so short and that  
> I've been so negligent with my updates:  
> I'm going through a depressive episode,  
> and am struggling with that, on top of  
> my already irksome writer's block.  
> I beg your patience and understanding.
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading,  
> it really means the world. Muah! <3

Solas had been absently flicking through the pages of a book when Eliana came in and dropped herself onto his divan. He almost smiled, and he didn’t look up. He hadn’t seen much of her, but he had heard all about how irritated she seemed the last week.  
 

“How did the fittings go, Vhenan?”  
  
“Ugh. Lucky for me, Dorian is a genius. That’s pretty much the only positive thing I have to say about it.” He peeked up at her, as she laid there with her hand over her eyes.  
  
  
“Are you unwell, da’len?”  
  
“I’m fine; ame da’vi'ssan'allal. I am sick of memorizing dances and names. Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, Fledermaus Quadrille, Waltz, Minuet Step….”  
  
“Your accent is very good.” He watched her as she rubbed her temples.  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren. But that is very little comfort, right this moment,” she sighed, her voice quiet, “Forgive the intrusion; this is the darkest room I could get to without having to go into the sun or down a flight of stairs.”  


“Ra din telsilal, Vhenan. Perhaps I may be of service.”  
  
He stood and walked to the various sconces, using his magic to dim the strength of the flame. He then approached her, slowly placing his fingers to her forehead, allowing a mixture of healing and cold through to press into her skull.  
  
“ _Ah_ , ma _serannas’en_ , _Vhenan_ ,” she sighed with relief, smiling calmly.

 

“Ahem…. Should we come back later?” Solas and Eliana looked to see Josephine and Cullen at the door, both blushing, but only Josephine was smirking. 

“No, please, come in. The Inquisitor has a migraine,” Solas never removed his fingers from her scalp, but spoke with the utmost professionalism.  
 

“She is just trying to get out of dance lessons! We only have two weeks, Inquisitor.” Josie strode over confidently, coming to stand before the divan with her hands on her hips; Cullen following behind, sheepishly.  


“Well, in just a moment, she will be free to go,” Solas remained expressionless, but Eliana’s eyes squinting up at him with a very “ _Fendhis lasa”_ look made him struggle slightly.

“Actually, Messere Solas, if you would be willing to be of aid,” Josie, in her best negotiation voice, “neither the Commander nor Inquisitor can seem to Waltz without stepping on each other’s feet….”  


“I would be happy to help, Lady Ambassador.” Both Eliana and Cullen were glaring daggers at him, but Solas merely smiled politely and bowed.  


“Fantastic! Okay Elie, up. You stand here,” Josephine pulled a groaning Eliana from the divan and placing her to face Solas, “And Cullen, you stand here. Remember, Commander, _you’re_ to lead. I’m to follow. Alright, bow.”  
  
Solas smirked at his partner now that the other two couldn’t see him, bending smoothly into a low bow, and she glowered back as she dipped into a curtsey. Each pair took a step towards each other, and the Apostate placed his hand onto the small of his Vhenan’s back while she laid hers on his shoulder; he gently took her opposite hand into his, feeling the pull of the Anchor through her leather glove.  


“Now, one…two…three…four, tilt and turn,” Josie kept tempo, humming between steps. Cullen’s hand was placed nearly between the Ambassador’s shoulder blades, and Solas wondered if he had been so _careful_ with touching Eliana.  


“Okay, now we are going into double-time.”  


Solas spun Eliana and pulled her back in tight against his hip, feeling her pulse pick up slightly and her eyes widen as they looked at each other, and nodded as was required. They then repeated the steps in double time, each couple spinning around clockwise quite quickly, Solas’s desk between them.  
 

“Now contra!”  
  
The slowed for a moment before spinning again, counter-clockwise, two more steps before Solas lifted the Inquisitor mid-spin, setting her down at a half-turn with no visible effort. They repeated the spin-step-step-lift once more, and he could see Eliana’s chest heaving, whether with exertion or because of him, he couldn’t be sure—  
  
“OW, CULLEN!” Josie called out and they stopped, turning to see Josie half-heartedly slapping the Commander’s shoulder.  
  
“I’m sorry, Josephine, I—”  
  
“How did you manage to step on my toe before I even touched the ground?” The Ambassador looked to be in extreme discomfort but more-so annoyed, as hobbled over to the divan.

  
“May I see, Ambassador?” Sola approached cautiously, but Josie just waved him off.  
  
“I’m sure I’m fine, Messere. Thank you, though,” She smiled at him tautly, before gesturing to Cullen and Eliana, “If I can see the Inquisitor and Commander get through the Waltz _once_ without hurting each other, I will be content to be done for the day.”  
  
Solas watched Eliana look at Cullen, who nodded conspiratorially, sharing a small smile as they took their places. Josie called for them to bow, and then began keeping tempo.  
 

Cullen suddenly moved much more gracefully than he had with Josephine, and Eliana smiled at him. Solas watched as the Commander’s hand was placed slightly lower on the Inquisitor’s back, just so his pinky finger rested where her hips began. They moved through the steps nearly flawlessly, and when it came to the half-turn lift, Cullen performed it without a misstep on either his part, nor Eliana’s. They remained hand-in-hand as they turned to their two-person audience, bowing and curtseying, respectfully.  
  
“Bravo, bravo! Encore, encore!!” They all four looked up to see Dorian and Varric at the banister above, applauding, and Dorian tossed down a flower.  
  
_Where did he even_ find _that flower?_  


Eliana caught it, and, placing it between her teeth, bowed with a dramatic flourish as Cullen turned to her and clapped, smiling.  
  
“Thank the Maker! Finally!” Josephine sighed with relief as she finished her praise, and moved to stand up—only to immediate sit back down with a flinch.  
  
“Ambassador, please,” Solas moved to heal her, but she shook her head.  
  
“No offense, Messere, but I am very attached to my healer. Since _Cullen_ broke me, _he_ shall have to carry me to her!” Very much to his surprise, Josie slipped Solas a sly wink without anyone’s notice.  
  
“As you wish, my Lady,” Solas bowed, maintaining his composure as the Commander sullenly lifted her and moved to carry her out of the Rotunda.  
  
“Oh, I am _not_ going to miss _that_ tongue-lashing,” Varric chuckled, hurrying down the stairs after them, as Dorian smirked and returned, presumably, to his seat.  
  
“Well done, _Messere_ ,” Eliana teased with a mock-curtsey. “Wherever did you learn to dance like that, I wonder?”  
  
She was eyeing him knowingly, baiting him, but he didn’t answer and his expression remained passive, save a quirked eyebrow.  
  
“Oh, let me guess, _The Fade_ ….” She turned, giving him a sidelong glance with her lips pursed into something between a smirk and a dubious sneer.  
  
“Vin, da’len. Has Josephine showed you the Quick Waltz?” He was casual: arms crossed, hip against his desk.  


“Din, Hahren.” She said it over her shoulder, studying his progress with mural of the battle at Adamant, before turning back to him, “Why? Should I know it?”  
  
“I thought you were eternally eager to learn,” he raised his eyebrows, challenging her.  
  
She took the inducement, striding towards him, arms out and waiting. He stood facing her, but a step to one side. He didn’t prepare her at all, waiting a long moment before stepping into her; one arm tucked behind him, other hand on the small of her back, pressing her to him. She looked at him from under her lashes the way she knew ruffled him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He repositioned her slightly, moving the hand to just below the back of his neck so they were closer.  
 

“Hold your other hand out. Normally you would hold the skirt of your gown with that hand, but for now, you will have to make due with your imagination,” he murmured into her ear, feeling her shudder slightly.  


He took another long step into her, guiding her back. She matched his step and continued pace with surprising ease, maintaining eye contact until the next step. They repeated the four steps at quadruple time, and she titled her head back slightly, as she was taught, glancing over at her skirt-less hand with exaggerated poise.  
  
“Contra,” he whispered right as they turned, hoping to catch her off balance, but she maintained her sync and poise with the tiniest of smirks, turning with him step, step, step, and—he lifted her by the waist until her hips were at eye-level, lowering her slowly as he heard her breath catch.  


“My, my,” she breathed as her feet touched the floor, looking at him provokingly, “You may be a better dance partner even than the Commander.”  


She hadn’t realized how close he had spun her to the wall, so when he stepped forward again, he saw the panic quickly flit across her eyes as she moved back against the rigid plaster-covered stone. He the hand that had been on her back beside her shoulders, leaning in close as she scowled at him.  
  
  
“Ir abelas, Vhenan…. For a moment I was sure you were taunting me.” His voice was low and dangerous, but she didn’t flinch again; holding his eyes.  


“Ir abelas sul thu ar siljosem, Hahren. We all have our secrets; I’m just in a mood because someone has been poking about in mine.” Her words were polite, but there was an undeniable hint of venom in them.  
  
She quickly ducked under his arm and left the Rotunda silently, without so much as a backwards glance.

* * *

  
  
Eliana walked the battlements for at least an hour—until the sun had finally set, and made her way down the steps into the top floor of The Herald’s Rest. Spotting Cole, standing alone in the corner, he smiles at her approach.  
  
_My sweet, darling little Spirit-Boy._  
  
“Voice ringing with fullness from both worlds, guiding me to the shining places. He calls himself Pride,” Cole didn’t bother with a greeting.  
  
“Solas?” Eliana recognized by now when Cole was referring to the Apostate, “Does he know when you’re speaking of him?”  
  


“Sometimes,” The Spirit tilted his head slightly as if listening, a far-away look in his eye, “But he pays no attention now. He thinks of you.”  
  
“What about me?” She leaned back onto her heels, crossing her arms over her chest.  
  
“He worries for you. He is scared what it means—about the arrow.” Cole looked at her then, changing his tone and expression as if a veil dropped over his eyes, “Do you have the amulet yet?”  
  
“No, I’m afraid not, but Josie said it should arrive any day,” Eliana half smiled, not knowing what to make of Solas’s concern, but also worried about Cole’s obvious distress. 

“That is good. Do not worry for me, Elie. You are doing your best,” Cole reached out to her, touching one of her still-crossed arms lightly, and she felt a cool sense of calm wash over her.  
  
“You love him, and he loves you—but both of your secrets—” Cole paused briefly, considering or listening, Eliana couldn’t tell, “Neither of you trust the other.”  


“Who can truly trust a Wolf?” She smiled weakly at the Spirit, and he nodded understandingly.

“Who can truly trust a ‘sly fox’?” His words were not his own, and she chuckled slightly before hugging the boy.

“Tell him to butt out next time,” She whispered, smilingly, “I’m headed downstairs to find Dorian.”    
  


Cole nodded, waving slightly as he muttered, "Bright, like the fish that kill you if you eat them. Can't hate you for hiding if you burn so brilliantly."

 

Eliana smiled to herself as she walked down the stairs, seeing from the second floor Dorian and Bull at the table by the hearth down below, sitting with Sera and Varric. She hollered down to them and they smiled widely, waving her down with enthusiasm.  
  
“My blossom, you look to be in higher spirits now,” Dorian cooed as she approached, and she slid onto his lap; leaning backwards briefly to kiss Bull’s cheek before she wrapped her arms around her Tevene Peach’s neck.  
  
“Oi! I dun gettah kiss?” Sera feigned offense, a hand placed over her chest.  
  
“You’ll get a lot more that that later if you behave, my Dis-asterpiece,” Eliana winked jokingly over to the blonde just as Blackwall plopped down beside her.  
  


“So, d’all War’ens ‘ave beards?” Sera turned to him now, eyeing his beard. 

“Just me. I stole all tha beards, and all tha power stored within. There can be only one….” He didn’t even look at Sera as he responded, his voice dark and ominous; Eliana laughed.  
  
“Good to see you’re less cranky now, Boss!” Bull nudged her—careful to be gentle.  
  
“You try having to dance _all day_ , _every day_!” She teasingly glared at him, cracking into a smile despite her attempt to stay stern, “Josephine is marital in her instruction of Court etiquette…and Dorian here ditched me.” She bumped her head against the Altus’s own, grinning at his grimace.

“It’s _boring!_ I’m _sorry,_ ” He whined at her, his bottom lip stuck out slightly in an apologetic pout.

“Why do you think I wanted you to come along?” She pouted right back, before grinning at Cabot as he set her favorite wine in front of her with a sneer.

“Have you eaten today?” Dorian looked at her concerned, whispering in her ear as she downed her glass in a swig.  
  
“I refuse to dignify that with an answer.” She tilted her chin high, closing her eyes as she spoke, and feeling the warmth of the beverage spread outwards from her chest.  
  


Her friends all shared nervous glances as she sat there, back straight and eyes closed, unnoticing. Dorian tugged at the knot holding up her curls, allowing them to cascade slowly down her back as he wrapped the leather cord back around her tiny wrist. 

“Did your little post-lesson lesson not go as hoped?” He whispered into her hair so none of the others could see or hear him speaking to her.

She turned her head to look him in the eye, “It’s not that. It’s just…family things,” she sighed before speaking loud enough for the others to hear again, “I’m just tired. I’m already sick of Halamshiral, of the dances and scheming.”  
  
  
“I’ll get you another glass,” Bull said awkwardly, heading towards the bar. 

“I thought women lived for those sorts of things,” Blackwall mumbled as he took a gulp from his flagon.

“You obviously haven’t spent much time around Dalish elves, Ser.” Eliana gave the Warden a sympathetic smile.

“Nope. Not in the least,” He was wide-eyed and honest, and she laughed.

“Well, just ask Solas. They’re rude, misled children, and most of us prefer breeches to skirts.” She and Dorian laughed, as Blackwall looked confused and Bull sat back down, sliding Elie’s wine back towards her.  
  


“I thought you and he…” The man blushed under his giant beard, “Ya know.”  
  
“Is anything so simple?” Eliana replied, smiling gently, but her tone was wistful as she gently lifted her second glass to her lips. 

“No, I s’ppose not,” Blackwall looked into his flagon, sighing—No doubt thinking of the Lady Ambassador.

 

A half-hour later, Dorian was carrying the Inquisitor’s barely-conscious body to bed—passing Solas on his way back up from the kitchen.

He stopped and watched them pass: Dorian shooting him a tight-lipped glance as Eliana’s head rolled against her best friend’s chest. Her Vhenan only saw the fleeting glint of a single tear glide from her eye down her cheek. She didn’t see Solas directly, but she felt the tiniest of pulls in her Anchor and she sighed as Dorian lightly pressed his lips to her forehead; her words, barely loud enough for Solas to hear, and even then, difficult for him to understand.

_  
“Is anything so simple?”_

 

* * *

>   ** _H—_**
> 
> **_Etha, Fen'Harel emal mar odhe…._ **
> 
> **_—L_ **

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Ame da’vi'ssan'allal I am experiencing a small migraine  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Ra din telsilal: It is not bothering  
> Ir abelas: My apologies  
> Ma serannas’en: My many/great thanks  
> Ir abelas sul thu ar siljosem: I am sorry for how I behaved  
> Etha: Be safe  
> Fen’Harel emal mar odhe: The Dread Wolf has your scent
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry there's not more...I'm just having a hard time (emotionally) lately.  
> I'll make up for it soon, I swear. I love you all <3 xoxoxox


	42. Spirit Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana's Ballgown arrives,  
> and so does Cole's amulet.  
> So, will he be a Spirit or a Human?
> 
>  
> 
> Hold on to your butts, cause this chapter will   
> probably be the last one before we veer off Canon...  
> Shit's about to get like camping in the Hinterlands—  
> In-tents. 
> 
> Get it?  
> In tents? Intense?
> 
> Sorry, ANYWAY:  
> Thank you so much for continuing to read my fic-garbage  
> and you are all the Rod Stewart song that keeps me going!  
> (Metaphorically, of course) MUAH! <3<3

  
Eliana was nervous…scared, even. She had received several missives from Laleal that, suffice to say, distressed her. Felassan was dead, and though Briala still had control of the Eluvians, and things were not looking positive. Briala had recruited her, but _through_ Felassan…so it was a relief that her identity was still safe.   
  
_Playing triple agent is much more difficult as Inquisitor._  

A knock came at her door, and Josie’s voice immediately followed, calling up the stairs as Eliana hurried to slip her notebook under the mattress again. There were three sets of footsteps.  
  
  
“Inquisitor! Your dress has arrived!! Oh, you’re still in bed! Do you feel unwell?” Josie rushed over to place the back of her hand to Eliana’s forehead.

As tempting as it was to say yes and try to get out of this whole mess, she only had five days until the Ball, and Briala was in serious trouble. She faked a smile to Josephine and raised the random book she had grabbed.

“No, I just was distracted with reading,” She looked down at the indiscriminately chosen page she had opened to, marking it as if to come back to it later, “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

Eliana swung her legs out of bed and smilingly nodded politely to the other two guests in her room, the seamstress and a city she-elf, presumably the Madame’s servant.  
  
“Madame Faucon, lovely to see you again,” She extended a hand to the elven woman, “And you are?”

“I-Inislea, Yer Wership,” she studdered as she curtsied, ignoring Elie’s hand.   
  
“What a lovely name,” Eliana heard a knock and looked over at Josephine, “I suppose that is the rest of my Wardrobe Counsel?” She smiled with the joke, and looked pointedly down at her dress-shirt.  
  
“Yes, of course. Madame, would you be so kind as to tell them to come in and I will help the Inquisitor into her gown?” Josie was ever polite and sweet, though it never came off as anything but genuine, even to Eliana.   
  
_No wonder she’s so damn good at her job.  
_  

She was shooed by the Ambassador into the storage room and helped into the three-part dress. She was pleased to see the bodice/top of the dress was low-backed—so the low ridge of the collar didn’t obstruct her ability to look around; the sleeves were long and fitted until the wrist, where they loosened slightly to allow for easily-hidden stilettos. It was interesting to see that the bodice buttoned at the pelvic girdle, so there would be no concern of it falling off or open with such a low back. The leggings fit better than a glove: somehow tighter and yet with more stretch than lent-to by her other leggings. They even had the loops for her dagger holsters.   
Lastly, Josie wrapped the skirt around her waist, clasping it at the front with a beautifully non-descript gold brooch with a vaguely branch-like design. It fit just above her hips, where it was tight enough to sit, remaining on its own without needing to be secured to the bodice; the pleating and ruching was perfect that it hid the overlap of the skirt, so when she walked, the leggings wouldn’t show. Eliana was surprised to find herself so pleased by the dress. The whole outfit—the skirt, in particular—was surprisingly no heavier than her thicker armor and, perhaps, the added weight of her rucksack. Josephine knelt down, gliding the slippers onto the Inquisitor’s small feet; they felt as comfortable and secure as a pair of worn-in boots, but were a lovely red and embroidered with gold tree branches.  
  


“Are you ready?” Josie asked, popping her head out to the resounding “Yes!” of Vivienne, Dorian, Leliana, and Cassandra. Eliana guessed Sera decided to sleep in.

Eliana took a step out, surprised at how easeful and _quiet_ her movements were. She beamed at the seamstress and then at Dorian. The Madame sent her servant to fetch some water from the kitchens as Eliana twirled once, allowing the layers of the skirt to rise gently, but successfully keeping the breeches hidden.  
  
“Madame Faucon, you have truly have a gift. This is so comfortable, and just exactly what I needed.” She, to the surprise of the seamstress, hugged the large woman with enthusiasm.  
  
“It is entirely my pleasure, Your Worship! And don’t worry, not even my help knows about the trousers underneath,” the Madame winked, smiling.  
  
“Speaking of which, Darling, do let us see,” Vivienne’s tone suggested at her impressed reaction, and Dorian nodded vigorously in agreement, eyes wide with enthusiasm.   
  
Eliana grinned as she unhinged the clasp, opening the skirt as Josie took it from her, holing it off the ground; it would hardly receive such gentle treatment at the Ball. She twirled again for them, showing off the red of the leggings and slippers contrasting with the gold and cream of the bodice, enjoying the quiet gasp and applause from Dorian and Vivienne’s wide, smiling nod of approval. 

“Oh my, Inquisitor! Those _shoes_!” Leliana moved forward to get a better look at them, cooing excitedly over the embroidery and visibly shuddered with pleasure at the thin, perfectly hidden blade at the outside of the right slipper heel.   
  
Josie wrapped the skirt back around Eliana’s waist, who reclosed the clasp, just in time to hide the breeches from the she-elf servant who could be heard climbing the stairs with a pitcher of water and tray of glasses.   
  
“Thank you again, it is lovely! I am so thrilled to wear it,” Eliana gushed warmly at Madame Faucon, “I can’t wait to see what you’ve done for the others.”   
  
“Indeed!” Vivienne looked eager, and Dorian shot Elie a smug smirk and a wink. Cassandra even looked pleased. 

“It is my pleasure, Inquisitor,” the Madame curtseyed deeply before turning to the rest, “I will meet all of _you_ in your quarters at the times mentioned to you by the Ambassador.”   
  
She curtseyed again and, carrying her glass of water, marched back down the stairs, followed by Inislea. Josie turned to face Eliana as soon as they heard the door shut.  
  
  
“Do you really like it? I know you didn’t want to wear a skirt—” The Ambassador looked apologetic.

“Truly, Josie, I love it. It’s the perfect disguise.” 

“Ahem!” Dorian pretended to clear his throat, looking at Eliana meaningfully.

She ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek with enthusiasm.

“Thank you, my prince! You really are a genius.”  
  
“ _Do_ try not to get much blood on it?” He joked, smiling.  
  
“Alright, let’s get you dressed for the day, Inquisitor,” Josephine seemed reluctant to change her out of the dress, but knew that Eliana would most likely just get it dirty if she kept it on.  
  


 As her friend helped her out of the dress and handed her clothes for the day, Eliana thanked her for her willingness to be so patient and accommodating.   
  
“Anything for you, Elie,” the Ambassador whispered conspiratorially, “You really are a vision in that dress. Just wait until we get your hair and face done up. The Court will be at your feet.”   
  
Eliana rolled her eyes dramatically before kissing Josie’s cheek warmly.

 

* * *

 

Solas was startled when he heard the sound of Eliana lowering herself onto his divan, looking up to see her feet tucked under her, and a book opened on her lap: _The Emperors of Orlais_ , by Brother Harlon Ascari. He hadn’t seen or spoken to her much outside of the Fade lately. She had seemed temperamental and frustrated; now she looked eerily calm.  
  
“Vhenan?” She lifted her eyes first, her chin following, and slowly gave him a warm smile.  
  
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Hahren. I haven’t been particularly pleasant as of late, and I missed spending time with you—” she blushed slightly, nodding to the papers in front of him, “but I didn’t wish to bother you too much. I thought maybe just quietly reading near you would be agreeable for both parties.”   
  
He stood, slowly sliding himself out of his chair and strode towards her; reaching out to place a finger under her chin and lift her face to his own. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, smiling into her lips as he felt the brief stiffening of her body with surprise.  
  


“Ar nulem ma haim tas, da’len,” He pulled back and smiled at her, “I thought I had angered you.”  
  
“No,” She frowned slightly now, glancing down at her hands, “I received word that I have lost a…friend.”  
  
“Oh?” He felt slightly wary, but maintained his composure.

“Well, a friend of my mother’s, really. Someone I haven’t seen in a long time.”  
  
“Ir abelas, ma vhenan,” He leaned down again and lightly kissed her lips again, “Stay as long as you like.”  
  
“Ma serannas, Hahren,” She smiled gently at him, watching him as he returned to his desk before returning to her book. He looked down at his work, unable to concentrate. Luckily, the messenger that came down the stairwell looking for Eliana soon distracted him. 

“Inquisitor, this came for you,” The young man saluted, bowing at the waist, before retreating with a blush at her warm “thank you”.  
  


Solas watched as she unwrapped the small package, holding up the Amulet for him to see, grinning. 

“Excellent,” He smiled.  
  
“Shall we go find him?” She asked, looking pleased.  
  
“He already knows—” Solas barely finished his sentence before Cole appeared in a puff of his usual Fade-green.   
  
“It’s here.” Cole looked at it, but didn’t take it from Eliana’s extended hand, “What do I do with it?” 

“May I?” Solas rose, taking the amulet from her and studying it briefly before looking back up at them, “It is simple enough. You put it on, I charge it with magic, and you should be protected.”  
  
“Are you ready, Cole?” Eliana spoke gently, and Solas saw the concern on her face as the Spirit-Boy paced back and forth.  
  


“They can’t make me a monster.” He stopped suddenly, and his voice was determined—almost angry. He took the amulet from Solas and put it on.

Solas looked the Spirit in the eye, and Cole gave a tiny nod. Solas stretched out his hand, closing his eyes, and directed his magic into the amulet; the magic made an audible hum, before suddenly something made a snapping noise and there was a flash of light.

“AH,” Cole stepped back, flinching in what appeared to be pain, and Eliana moved to his side: close, but not touching him, brow furrowed in concern.

“What was that?” Varric strode in, looking at Solas with suspicious, and Cole with concern, “Oh, for—What are you doing to the kid?!” 

Cole turned quickly, facing Varric wide-eyed.  
  


“Stopping Mages from binding me, making me a demon, like at Adamant…but it didn’t work,” The boy sighed, sounding almost tearful.

“Something is interfering with the Enchantment,” Solas found himself standing straighter, chin up and hands behind his back. Subconsciously defensive in the face of Varric’s disapproval.

“Something like Cole not being a demon?” Varric crossed his arms, looking irked.

“I’m not exactly certain _what_ Cole is, but that’s irrelevant. He wants to feel safe,” Eliana piped up now, lips pursed with concern as she looked from the Spirit to Varric. 

“Regardless of Cole’s special circumstances, he remains a Spirit,” Solas’s voice was a little sharper than he had intended.

“Yes, a Spirit who is _strangely_ like a _person_!” Varric’s tone was a bit sharp too, and Solas could see Eliana’s uncertainty building.  
  
  
“ _I_ don’t matter. Just lock away the parts of me that they could knot together, make me follow!” Cole was pacing again, and Solas strode up behind him; his presence seeming to calm the Spirit-boy, somehow.  
  
“Just focus on the amulet. Tell me what you feel.” His voice is gentle, leading Cole into his usual trance-like stream of talk. 

“Warm, soft blanket covering, but it catches—tears. I’m the wrong shape, there’s something…” Cole turns and faces the door of the catwalk to Cullen’s office, “There. That way.”  
  
“It appears we have something _else_ to find,” Eliana’s tone was wry, and she crossed her arm.

“Alright, kid. Work with Cullen on the map,” Varric sighed slightly, “Try to figure out where you’re sensing something wrong.” 

“Will you all come with me?” Cole seemed more childlike than ever.

“Sure,” Varric gave him a weak smile, and Cole turned, leaving the room.  
  


As soon as the door was shut, Varric approached Solas, trying to keep his tone even.

“Alright, I get it. You like Spirits. But he came into this world to be a person. Let him be one.”

  
“Cole is…something. A Spirit. He has magically abilities _and_ vulnerabilities,” Eliana cut in before Solas could respond, “We can’t just ignore that.”  
  
  
“Fair enough,” Varric shrugged, “But that ritual of theirs only works on demons, right?” 

Solas turned to face the dwarf, unable to prevent his sneer.  
  


“This is not some fanciful story, Child of the Stone. We cannot change our nature by simply wishing.”  
  
“You don’t think?” Varric’s quiet, back-handed reply was barely heard. 

“However we deal with the problem,” Solas turned to Eliana now, “Our next step is to track down whatever is interfering with the Enchantment.”  
  
Varric huffed, but walked calmly from the room, sneaking a glance at Eliana’s pursed lips and furrowed brow before walking into the hall and closing the door behind him.  
  


“You were a bit sharp with Varric, don’t you think?” Solas turned to her then, crossing his arms; she was several paces away, head tiled.

“So, you stand with him on this?” His tone was surprised but a touch venomous.

 She strode towards him, hands raised and palms up: a look of disbelief on her face.  
  
“What? I sided with _you_. I just think you were a tad hostile to Varric. He cares about Cole just as much as you do; his relationship is just different.”   
  
She was standing in front of him now, her hands curling over the arms crossing his chest and looking at him almost pleadingly. He sighed slightly, and dropped his arms, clasping them again behind his back.  
  
  
“There is truth in your words. Ir abelas, Vhenan.” He briefly kissed her forehead before returning to his desk and shifting papers, unsure of how to feel.

 

* * *

 

 

“So…how are we going to do this?” Eliana was rubbing her temples again, feeling another migraine coming along, “We have to _leave_ for Halamshiral in four days, and I don’t want Cole worried and miserable for the whole trip.”

She had dragged Varric into the Rotunda so she could talk to both he and Solas about going to Redcliff: where Cullen and Cole had determined the “wrongness” (as Cole put it) earlier that day.

“We could leave first thing tomorrow, take care of it, and then head back the next morning?” Varric had sat in Solas’s chair, propping his feet up on his desk.

“Yes, but we do not know what _‘it’_ is. Or how long _‘it’_ will take to be handled.” Solas stood near her, eyeing the dwarf’s feet on his papers.

“That’s what I’m worried about. Josie and Cullen are already not thrilled with us going so soon to departure,” Eliana sighed, looking towards the door to the catwalk, “But we can’t just ask Cole to be okay with waiting. He feels like he is in danger— _and—_ ”

“We do not know what to expect at the Winter Palace. He _could_ be in danger,” Solas held up a hand to stop Varric’s response that _he also might not be_ , “There is no way of knowing for certain. So we must go, and hope it is quick and simple.”

“Alright,” Eliana sighed, still rubbing her temples. “Get your stuff packed and I’ll have a scout let the stables know to have our mounts ready in the morning. We’ll leave before first light.”  
  
“You got it, Foxlette,” Varric gave her a shy smile and walked from the room.  
 

“Vhenan?” 

Solas was standing before her, and she lifted her eyes slowly up: past his legs, waist, past his strong chest and broad shoulders—pausing for just a beat on his parted lips, before at last meeting his eyes.  
  


“Yes, Hahren?” She smiled slightly, holding back a sigh.

“What is the matter, da’len?” His voice was stern, commanding, though his eyes were kind and gentle.

_What do you think is the problem, Wolf? It always comes back to you._

“Stress, mostly.” She gave him a weak smile, but he wasn’t having it.  
  


He sat down next to her, brushing his lips up her neck to her ear.

“Would you like to talk about it?” His voice was smooth and heady, and she found herself panting slightly.  
  
“Mm, maybe tomorrow,” She leaned away from him gently, a hand on his chest, “We really should be getting some sleep. It’ll be a early start.” 

She stood, managing to catch the fleeting surprise on his face. She leaned and pressed her lips to his, long and gentle: savoring him.  
  


“On’nydha, Vhenan.”

 

* * *

 

 

Their trip went quickly enough. They hadn’t even bothered to stop for lunch—eating biscuits Eliana had passed out, staying in their saddles. They reached Redcliff not long after lunchtime. They followed Cole through the streets, he was ahead of them, walking with determination. A man, a village guard perhaps, seemed to be the focus of the Spirit Boy’s attention. Solas could here his discussion as he paid another, smaller man for a package. 

“Yeah, this should get me through the month…” The man caught sight of Cole’s approach, and dismissed his companion, “Give me a moment.”  
  


“Greetings, can I help you?” He walked towards Cole, who immediately had him on his knees.

_“You!”_ Cole’s voice dripped with anger, _“You killed me!”_

“What? I don’t—” The man desperately looked around, locking eyes with Solas before back to Cole, “I don’t even know you!”

“You forgot! You locked me in a dungeon in The Spire, and you forgot, and I died in the dark!” Cole was yelling now, drawing the attention of passersby, and Solas felt Eliana’s hand on his arm.

“T-The Spire?” The man stuttered with confusion, but this seemed only to enrage Cole.  
  
“Cole—Stop!” Solas strode forward, allowing to man to crawl to his feet before running off.

“Just take it easy, kid…” Varric had moved to stand between the fleeing man and the Spirit-Boy.  
  
“He killed me. He killed me, and that’s why it doesn’t work! I have to kill him back!” Cole paced back and forth, distressed, head in his hands.

“Before anyone gets killed, I would like to know what’s going on.” Eliana strode up, hands on her hips and jaw set sternly, but there was concern in her eyes. 

“Cole, this man cannot have killed you,” Solas tried to reason, “You are a Spirit. You have not even possessed a body.”  
  
“A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell. Guts gripping in the dank dark, a captured apostate,” Cole’s voice was calmer now, but his wide eyes were filled with an indescribable sadness, “They threw him into the dungeon at The Spire in Val Royeaux. They forgot about him. He starved to death. I came through to help…but I couldn’t. So I became him. Cole.”

 

“If Cole was an apostate, that’d make the guy we just saw a Templar. Must’ve been buying Lyrium.” Varric glanced over his shoulder to see the man round a corner, as the dwarf uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
“ _Let_ me kill him. I need to…. _I need to._ ” Cole strode forward a few steps, his voice barely a hiss.

“We cannot let Cole kill that man—” Solas was concerned, demanding, but Varric cut him off.

“No one was going to actually suggest _that_ , Chuckles,” Varric looked at him with pursed lips. Solas turned to Eliana.

“Cole is a Spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him; perverted him from his purpose,” He looked at her eyes, watched her brow furrow, “To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”

“C’mon, you don’t just forgive someone for _killing you_ ,” Varric threw his hands up in disbelief.

“ _You_ don’t. A Spirit can.”

“Cole should be the one to decide, but I can’t justify him killing anyone.” Eliana’s face met Cole’s eyes with pain and compassion.  
  
“I believe I can help,” Solas turned and approached the Spirit Boy now, “Cole, come with me.”  


They followed the fleeing man, rounding the corner after him, to find him at a dead-end. Cole appeared in front of him, and the man dropped to his knees, defeated.

“Not possible….Not possible!” Cole stood before the man, his face defiant.

“Can you feel this man’s pain, Cole?” Solas kept his voice calm, trying to calm his friend.

“He remembers now.” Cole nodded, “He knows he killed me.”

“No. Feel his pain. His guilt,” Solas urged gently, “The shame that drove him away from the Templars.”

“’Don’t worry, we’ll erase his records,’ they clap me on the shoulder. Smell of oil and blood. They smile like Louis did when he made me drown the kittens. Laughter bounces off the walls like a thin child’s fists.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The man looked up at Cole, meeting his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. 

“He is hurting, Cole. And you are a Spirit of Compassion,” Solas spoke gently, but resolutely.  
  
Cole stretched out his hand to the flinching man, and a brief flash of light spiraled into the man as Cole whispered, “Forget.”  
  


The man crawled to his feet again, running away just as Eliana and Varric approached.  
  
“I do believe we are finished here,” Solas gave them a smile.  
  
“You alright, kid?” Varric asked Cole, concerned.  
  
“Yes. He’s free; we both are free.” Cole nodded, blank faced but his words were certain.

 

They rented a room for the night, and after dinner, Varric sat on one bed, across from Eliana and Solas on the other. Eliana looked pensive, off in her own mind, and Varric was twiddling his thumbs. 

“The amulet appears to be working,” Solas offered, trying to calm his companions, “Cole should be adequately protected.”  
  


“Have you talked to him since?” Varric’s voice was low and quiet, but frustrated, “Have you heard what he sounds like?”  
  
“He sounds like a spirit,” Solas stated, his expression blank.

Varric sighed and shook his head, standing. 

“I’m going to get an ale,” the dwarf muttered over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him.  
  


“You didn’t really give Cole the choice,” Eliana spoke gently, but he could hear the disappointment in it.  
  
Solas didn’t respond, because she was right. He hadn’t. He had done what he thought was best. He kept his expression blank and his chin up, but turned his head to look at her. She was reclining against the pillows, propped up on an elbow. Her own expression was mostly blank, but her eyes seemed to hold a sadness.  
 

“I suppose not much of anyone gets to make their own choices these days,” she spoke quietly to herself, her eyes looking off towards the door. He found himself leaning down, resting his head against her hip, and closing his eyes.   
  
_Ir abelas, Vhenan._  

He thought it, but would not say it aloud. But she, nevertheless, lifted her hand and stroked his ear gently, affectionately. He tilted his chin to look up at her, and saw her own eyes were closed, leaking a single tear. He closed his eyes again.  
  


_Your pain is my fault, Halesta. All of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) heart  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Ar nulem ma haim tas: I missed you too(lit. I regretted your absence also)  
> Ir abelas, ma vhenan: I am sorry (for your loss), my heart.  
> Ma serannas: My thanks, Thank you  
> On’nydha: Goodnight
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for being patient with me  
> while I deal with my mental health crap<3  
> I love you all!! <3 xoxoxoxox


	43. Wicked Eyes (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Careening swiftly off-Canon and into  
> some serious Trespasser Spoilers,  
> so beware.
> 
> All my love for those of you who are being patient with me!  
> Muah! <3 xoxox

“Are you ready, Inquisitor?”

_No. How many times do I have to say yes before it becomes true?_  
  
“Yes, Josie,” Eliana smiled her most enthusiastically, but it was obviously forced.

“No need to _bite off my head_ , Elie. We are just running a bit late. The others have just left, and Cullen is kindly waiting outside the carriage so you can adjust your skirts—”  
  
“And I’m wearing pants beneath them, so his doing so is totally unnecessary.” Eliana laughed though rather harshly.

Cullen finally climbed in, blushing like a beet, and they set off: the wagon rocking at an uncomfortable pace, and Eliana had to do her best to distract herself from the nausea that was rising. Luckily Josephine took this time to repeat the same speech she had already given them several times.

“The political situation in Halamshiral hangs by a thread, and the Empress feels our presence could sever it. The Grand Duke is only too happy to have us at the ball as his guests, so our invitation comes from him. Whether we act as his allies, or upset the balance of power, he gains—if not a clear advantage—an opportunity.”

“Another power-hungry Git. Just what we needed,” Cullen rolled his eyes and met Elie’s smile with another blush.  
  
“Is it the Game you have distaste for, Commander?” Leliana quipped dangerously, looking like a Bird of Prey in her sleek black gown, “Or merely the Duke?”

“You know very well,” Cullen sassed back, much to the Inquisitor’s delight and amusement.

“I do _so_ love when my darlings get along!” She smiled cheerfully and clapped her hands together once, receiving half-amused glances from the Commander and Spymaster sitting across from her. She was rubbing her sweaty palms against her skirts, over and over, until Josie grabbed a hand gently in her own.

“I’m sure you know how to handle most nobility by now, Inquisitor, but The Game at Court…it’s something else entirely. It is no simple matter of protocol and etiquette. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness. It is like Wicked Grace—played to the death. You must _never_ reveal your cards—”

“Cards? Was I supposed to have cards?” Eliana interjected, a weak attempt at comedic relief. Josephine pursed her lips slightly, tilting her head.

“When you meet the Empress, the eyes of the entire Court will be upon you. You were safer staring down Corypheus,” Josephine chuckled nervously, with a glance to Leliana’s own taut expression, “Everything will be fine…. _Andraste watch over us all_.” 

The last words under the Ambassador’s breath were not missed as Eliana turned to face the palace they approached. Marble squarely standing backlit against the starry Orlesian night sky. Eliana subconsciously straightened herself in her seat, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She felt ridiculous with all this face-paint on, made to elaborate on her Vallaslin: making it look more like a mask. But she would show no weakness to these foolish Shemlen playing their childish games.  
  
_Famous last words…. Or thoughts. Whatever._

She took a deep breath as the soldiers came to a marching halt in front of her carriage and Duke Gaspard opened the carriage door himself to offer her his hand.  
  


“Inquisitor Lavellan, we meet at last! I have heard so much about you.”  
  


* * *

 

Solas watched from a distance, hands clasped behind him and head held tall. He could see as Eliana immediately played into the Duke, fluttering her lashes demurely as her answers to his peppered questions were all sweetly and subtly side-stepping. He was surprised—she had seemed so nervous before, and yet here she was, and Elvhen goddess, surrounded by human mortals, bending them to her. She stood with her head high and her shoulders straight, and though not very tall, she was a commanding sight, his Vhenan. She casually glanced around, but did not manage to see him before Gaspard had her following him to the entrance. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine struggled to stay close to her, though it was obviously difficult for them. He himself managed to catch up to the Duke and the Inquisitor more quickly, though stayed slightly farther away and out of sight. Solas caught the Commander’s eye, and was surprised when the man nodded at him. Dorian was on his heels, careful not to let any great distance separate them from Eliana just yet.

Inside the doors, they were lined up on either side of the grand stairs of the ballroom, and announced. Solas kept his eyes on Eliana’s face, but it did not waver from its politely blank expression. The herald began and Eliana met Gaspard at the landing as they were announced, curtseying deeply.

“Introducing: Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons and accompanying him, The Inquisitor Eliana Lavellan of the Dalish.”  
  
“Did you see their faces? Priceless,” Gaspard barely bothered to whisper; the rest of their party had heard him from up here. Eliana’s face never changed as she took the Duke’s arm and allowed him to walk her forward.

“Accompanying the Inquisitor... Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena—” 

“Get on with it!” The Seeker interrupted the herald, and Solas swore he could see Eliana’s ears twitch slightly.

“Pentaghast; Reknowned Author Varric Tethras; The Iron Bull, Captain of the Acclaimed Bull’s Chargers; Altus Dorian of House Pavus; Warden Blackwall of Val Chevin; Her Ladyship Mai Bhalsytch of Korse; Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition; Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court; Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisiton; and the Lady Inquisitor’s Elven serving man, Solas.” 

He had definitely seen her ears twitch then, no doubt fighting back a smile. She curtsied again to the Empress, sharing some brief small-talk intertwined with blatant meaning, as Solas followed Dorian off to find the wine.

Someone had already stepped on his plans for tonight, and he had a gut-wrenching suspicion just whom that might be. He had already spotted Briala, and though she didn’t know him, he felt a slight resentment bubble up. He was all but pouting when the Inquisitor appeared before him in all her Shemlen finery, sneering.  


“Don’t you clean up well, Solas,” She stated more than questioned.  
  
“You look lovely, Inquisitor,” He bowed slightly less than he should have.

“Ha, I’m sure,” She brushed the compliment off; her tone indicating an irritability—as if she had not been the one to seek him out, “Drinking so early?”  
  
“Merely keeping up appearances, I assure you, my Lady,” He murmured, allowing his eyes to fall onto her own now, and relishing the subsequent flush glow on her cheeks and ears.

“Solas—” She breathed, but then shook her head slightly, as if thinking better of it. Her hair was atop her head, and the scars of a wolf’s jaws on her bare throat were visible. He had to resist the urge to reach out and touch them.  
  
“I’ll be back shortly. Keep an ear out for any juicy gossip, _Hahren_?” She gave him the sort of glance that usually drew a growl from him, but he merely nodded, keeping his expression blank.

“Ma nuvenan, da’len.” 

He smiled into his glass as she disappeared into the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

_Elven Serving Man, Solas_ …. _HA! Quite a title for an agent of the Dread Wolf._  
  
She had already received her missive from Briala that afternoon: someone had tried to wrest control of the Eluvians from the Elven Ambassador just the day before in the name of Fen’Harel. Thanks to Eliana’s own spies in the Inquisition—unbeknownst even to her dear Leliana—she had been able to help thwart this attempt. And she had found the trail of Solas’s own spies leading right back to him. Now all this complication with being _in love_ with the damned Wolf….

_Never doubt yourself again, Halesta. You know a Wolf when you see one._  

She was rooting around the Library as she mused to herself what she could do when she found something Leliana would no doubt like to see. She shoved it up her sleeve when she heard the first bell ring.  
  
_Fantastic. Fashionably late_.

She began to head back into the Vestibule when a very suspicious, very imposing looking woman approached her.  
  
  
“Well, well. What have we here? The Leader of the New Inquisition, Fabled Herald of the Faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the Blessed Andraste herself,” the dark haired woman came to a stop in front of her, hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed gold, and Eliana flashed her a polite smile.  
  
“What could bring such an Exalted Creature to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?” Her voice was like honeyed peppers.

“We may never know,” Eliana curtsied to her slightly, “Court intrigues and such.”

“Such intrigues obscure much, but not all. I am Morrigan,” The woman curtsied in return, “Some call me Advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the Arcane.” She gestured to a small settee, and Eliana followed her, keeping in step.  
  
“You have been very…busy this evening. Hunting in every dark corner of the Palace,” Morrigan kept her voice low, but probing, “Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?”

“One would certainly hope so,” Eliana kept her Game-face on.  
  
“A sentiment I share, considering recent events,” Morrigan cast a side-long glance at Eliana’s raised brow, “Recently I found and killed an unwelcome guest in these very Halls. An agent of Tevinter.”

She slid the key to the Inquisitor, who promptly slid it up her sleeve.

“Where it leads, I cannot say,” Morrigan’s voice continued lowly, “But if the Empress is indeed in danger, I cannot very well leave her side long enough to search. You may.” 

“It is certainly something to look into, isn’t it?” Eliana smiled, noncommittally.  
  
“Certainly,” Morrigan curtsied, and led them both back into the ballroom just as the second bell toiled.

 

Immediately upon entering the ballroom, she was met by the Grand Duchess.  
  
“Inquisitor Lavellan, we met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons; welcome to my party.”  
  
“Why am I not at all surprised you want to see me now?” Eliana smiled, fluttering her lashes.  
  
_My cheeks are seriously beginning to hurt._

“This is Orlais, Inquisitor. _Nothing_ happens by accident,” Florianne gestured for the Inquisitor to follow her towards the stairs, “I believe tonight you and I are concerned by the actions of…a certain person. Dance with me, spies will not hear us on the dance floor.”

“After you, Your Grace,” Eliana curtsied again, feeling the annoying creak in her knees. 

Josephine’s voice was in her head as they descended onto the ballroom: _Remember, as a Duchess, you lead._

It was a minute-step, leading into a waltz, and they spoke as they took their places.  
  


“Tell me, how much do you know about our little war?”  
  
“It doesn’t matter where you’re from, Your Grace; everyone knows what’s happening in the Empire.”

“I—I often forget about the world outside of the Imperial Court. It took great effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations. One party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the Empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall.”  
  
“Do we both want that, Lady Florianne?”  
  
“I hope we are of one mind on this.”  
  
“In times like these, it’s hard to tell friend from foe,” tone wistful, Eliana twisted the Duchess around in front of her.

“I know you arrived as a guest of my brother, Gaspard, and that you have been all over the Palace. You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor, and a matter of concern to some.”

“And which am I to you, Your Grace?”  
  
“A little of both, actually. This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what roll you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the Court can be trusted?”

“If I have learned anything, Your Grace, it is to trust no one.”  
  
“In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone. It can’t have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight.”

“I thought dangerous machinations were the national sport in Orlais?” Eliana dipped the Duchess deeply before lifting her again.

“You have little time. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. Search the Royal Wing. You will find the Captain of my brother’s Guard there, along with all of his secrets.” 

“We’ll see what the night has in store, won’t we?” Eliana smiled widely again as they finally curtsied their finish, and she walked off towards Leliana with a purpose.  
  


* * *

 

Solas had watched the Inquisitor dance with the Duchess, just as everyone else had, and had been impressed by her ease with leading the dance. He returned to his post with a small plate of frilly cakes. It wasn’t long before his Vhenan stood before him again, smiling slightly this time.

“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeate these events,” He glanced down at her, his smile almost imperceptible.

“You seem much more comfortable with a Grand Orlesian Ball that I’d have expected,” She glanced at his plate with a cocked brow, “Are those cakes?”

“I have seen countless such displays in my journeys in the Fade,” He chuckled slightly, “And yes, they are cakes.”

“I also wouldn’t have taken you for one with a sweet-tooth,” she smirked slightly, her eyes glinting with something else he recognized.  
  
“Wouldn’t you?” His voice lowered to a quiet rumble, and he knew the look in his eye was a bit more than decorum would permit, but she just smiled widely and leaned in.  
  
  
“Well, finish your cakes and meet me in the servants wing,” she grinned as he pulled back to look at her, surprised, “ _With_ your weapons and armor. Grab Bull, as well. I have to find Dorian….” She sauntered off with a smirk flashed over her shoulder at his faintest of blushes. 

_Precocious little Foxlette…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Hahren: Elder  
> Ma nuvenan: As you wish  
> Da’len: Little One
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize for the current state of my mental  
> health affecting my writing lately, but I'm  
> trying to get better. Thank you for your  
> continuing to read and support! <3 xoxox


	44. Wicked Hearts (pt.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****SMUT WARNING**** **at the last half of the chapter.**
> 
> The second half of The Winter Palace/Halamshiral evening.
> 
> This Chapter is Specially Dedicated to **juliaxsnyder** who has spent countless hours on FB messenger, Tumblr,  & texting me, getting me through one of the rougher bouts of depression I've had in years. I am so grateful for her time, patience, kindness, & friendship.
> 
> I also need to send my love to [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), who has been an angel, checking up on me via email, even while busy making the most gorgeous cake you'll ever see.
> 
> I don't have words enough for my gratitude to you both.  
>  **I LOVE YOU LADIES. <3 **
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!  
>  Muah! <3

  
“If you had been as drunk as you were acting, I would have been furious,” Eliana laughed at Dorian tersely as they snuck into the servant’s wing, where Bull, Cole, and Varric waited just on the other side of the door. 

“If I had been as drunk as I was acting, you’d have been laughing too hard to be angry, my dove,” Dorian kissed her cheek delicately, laughing.  
 

Solas still had a bite of one of his frilly cakes in his fingers, and she swiftly grabbed his hand and stole the last bite—not bothering to hide the glance they shared as she raked her tongue across his fingertips, gathering the last of the icing.

“Thanks,” she teased, “I’m _starved_.” He merely pursed his lips at her in an attempt to fight a smirk.  
  


She unclasped her skirt from the rest of her dress, and handed it to Bull (who had been designated a bag to carry it) as the recipient rolled his eye. She was grateful for the easier access to her daggers and the lessened weight on her hips. Everyone else appeared to be ready; merely waiting for Dorian to adjust his staff onto the harness on his back, as Varric looked between Solas and her with an eyebrow cocked and half-grinning, but remaining wordless. 

“Okay, let’s go kill someone,” she chirped, skipping off smilingly.  
  
They wove their way around the servant’s quarters; finding dead elven servants everywhere, picking off Venatori here and picking up scraps of information there. She made quick work of scaling a fence and unlocking a gate for the others. They passed their way into the gardens of the Royal wing: finding more Vints, more damning evidence, and several Harlequin assassins. They managed to save a serving girl of Briala’s, and the Captain of Gaspard’s Mercenaries. They made their way into Empress Celene’s private quarters, surprised to find a man naked and bound to the bed.  
  


“What…happened?” Eliana could barely contain her smile.

“It’s not what it looks like—Honestly I would prefer it if it were. The Empress led me to believe I would be _rewarded_ for betraying the Grand Duke. This…is not what I had hoped for.” The man flushed and ashamed, spoke quickly, and Eliana heard the Ooh’s from Bull, Dorian, and Varric—and a quiet chuckle from Solas.

“Believe me, darling, if the Empress had offered to tie me up, I’d have been game, too,” Eliana perched beside him on the bed, smiling. She was trying her best to comfort the man without outright laughing at him.

“Please, I _beg_ you, do not tell Gaspard! The Empress beguiled me! Into giving her…information about troop movements in the Palace tonight. She knows everything— _everything_!” The man struggled against his bindings, “The Duke’s surprise attack has been thwarted before it even begun. She’s turned it into a trap. The minute he strikes, he’ll be arrested for treason.”

“We’ll protect you from Gaspard if you’ll be willing to testify against Celene’s trap,” Eliana moved to untie the man’s hands, and Solas followed suit at the knots on his ankles.  
  
“I’ll do _anything!_ ” The man once again struggled slightly before he was free. Varric handed the man his things and Bull escorted him out of the room to wait in the hallway.  
  


“How…Orlesian,” Varric chuckled.  
  
“I didn’t take you for a binding sort, Little Vixen,” Dorian teased as they grabbed a few interesting documents and began to head back to the Ballroom.  
  
“I should never cease to surprise, my pear,” She chuckled back, kissing his cheek. 

“It certainly would be an interesting sight,” Solas smoothly commented, moving beside her and giving a smoldering side-long glance, before tilting his chin back up. 

She felt her face flush slightly as they all moved down into the Vestibule and through into the Ballroom.  
  
  
Cullen came running towards her, momentarily taken aback at her lack of skirts, just as Bull handed them to her.

“Thank the Maker, where have you been? The Empress is due to give her speech any moment now,” The Commander was flushed, no doubt from dodging pinches at his bottom all night.

“One moment, I need to speak to the Grand Duchess,” Eliana smiled.  
  
“There’s no time—”  
  
“Cullen.” Her voice was low and soft, but she was tired of the Game tonight, and he immediately stopped as she reclosed the clasp of her skirts.

She walked down the length of the ballroom to where Gaspard, Briala, and Florianne stood waiting for the Empress.

 

“We owe the Court one more show, Your Grace,” She called out to Florianne as the Duchess turned.

“The eyes of every Noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile.” She approached the woman, catching the glint of panic in Florianne’s eye as she walked up the stairs towards the Duchess, “This is _your_ party. You wouldn’t want them to think you’d lost control.”

“Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?” Florianne smiled nervously, dipping into a slight curtsy.

“I seem to recall your saying, ‘All I needed was to keep you out of the Ballroom long enough to strike’,” Eliana was projecting now, so everyone could hear, “When your archers failed to kill me in the Garden, I was worried you wouldn’t save me this last dance.”

“It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a counsel emissary,” Eliana paced around Florianne like a cat, “It was an ambitious plan. Gaspard, Celene, the Counsel of Heralds—all your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining,” The Dutchess backed away slowly, her voice weak, “But you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories.”

“That would be a matter of a judge to decide, cousin,” Celene spoke now, drawing all eyes except Eliana’s 

“Gaspard?” Florianne pleaded with her brother, “You cannot believe this! You know I would never— Gaspard!” But her brother and Briala moved away, as Eliana gestured to the guards to take her away.  
  


“Your Imperial Majesty,” Eliana turned and bowed to Celene finally, “I believe we should speak in private, elsewhere?”

The Empress gestured to the stairs and Eliana glanced over to see Solas nod once to her, smiling. She climbed up the staircase and followed the Empress, Gaspard, and Briala to the Balcony where they stood bickering.

  
“Your sister attempted Regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard!”  
  
“You’re the Spymaster,” Gaspard turned to Briala, “If anyone knew this attack was coming, it was you.” 

“You don’t deny your involvement?”  
  
“I _do_ deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne’s plans, but _you—”_  
  
“Enough,” Celene finally waved them to silence, “We will not bicker while Teventer plots against our nation! I will have answers.”  
  


“All of you are implicated. All of you conspired to allow this to happen,” Eliana finally spoke up.  
  
“That is a bold claim, Inquisitor. Are you prepared to defend it?” Celene’s chin was held high, so that her neck was curved defiantly.  
  
“You allowed Gaspard to sneak soldiers in, hoping he’d make a foolish move,” Eliana gestured to Celene, before turning to look dubiously at the Duke, “and Gaspard, _you_ fell for it.” 

“A bold move and foolish oversight,” Briala smirked at the man.  
  


“And Briala killed both of your ambassadors and sent you each forged letters.”  
  
“Even if that were true, you cannot touch me.” Eliana approached the Elven Ambassador.

“No one will defend you once it’s revealed you and Celene were lovers when she burned Halamshiral’s alienage,” Eliana hissed.

  
“You’ve made your point, Inquisitor,” Celene outstretched her hand, “What do you want?”

“I want…” Eliana sighed, looking all three Nobles in the eye, each in turn, “You to all work together. For the good of Orlais.”

 

* * *

**  
**

Solas pointedly ignored the passing Morrigan on his way onto the balcony where Eliana stood—back in her skirts, leaning against the rail with a glass of wine in hand. The open back of her dress had been distracting enough earlier, but now he took the time to admire her: the moon illuminating her pale flesh, the arch of her spine, the pair of dimples where her backbone met her hips—only visible now as she leaned forward onto her elbows.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here,” He leaned against the balustrade next to her, but she merely glanced over at him with a glazed look, “Thoughts?”

“I’m exhausted. It’s been a very long day,” Her face showed it, though her lilac eyes were still bewitching under her thick, dark lashes; only enhanced by the reflection of the moonlight off the gold face paint on her skin.  
  
“For everyone, I’d imagine. Cakes?” He offered a small plate with tiny little petit fours, drawing a laugh from her.

“No, thank you. They’re too sweet for me,” She smiled at him, a warm joy in her eyes, even though it seemed unsure.  
  
“Come then, before the band stops playing,” He took a step back, bowing and extending his hand, “dance with me.”

His enthusiasm seemed to catch her off-guard, and she extended her hand wordlessly. He gently swept her around the terrace, spinning little circles, and feeling her head pressed against his chest. He glanced down to see her face: eyes closed, a tiny smile on her lips, and her brow relaxed.  
Her eyelashes caught the moonlight into tiny prisms, and when she opened her eyes to look back at him, her amethyst eyes lit in such a way that they seemed almost to glow. He spun her more quickly then, and lifted her slightly, allowing her to slowly slide down the length of his body, causing a flush to rise over her cheeks. When he set her back on the ground, she moved to pull away, but he curled her into the crook of his arm and dipped her slow and deep, lifting her only to press his lips to her own.

“ _Vhenan._ ” He whispered against her lips before righting her again, holding her a moment as she seemed to sway lightly.

 She grabbed her glass from the railing and downed the last of her wine in a single gulp before turning back to him.  
  
“Let’s go back to the Villa, shall we?” She purred, pressing herself against his chest in a way that was both comforting and tempting.  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Halevune’udh.”  
 

He made the excuses for her: she was tired, the politics put her in too much danger to stay at the Palace tonight, the Empress would understand, etc. Josephine and Leliana cooed sympathetically as she leaned on Solas, looking tired and her hair disheveled. Cullen even smiled, nodding in understanding and calling for a small set of guards to have a carriage brought around and accompany them back to the Villa. Solas returned the smile, grateful.  
  


He helped his Vhenan into the carriage like a gentleman, one hand behind his back, as she gathered her skirts in one hand and slid onto the cushioned bench. She was not fond of carriages, for obvious reasons, but her exhaustion left her compliant. He climbed in next to her, and she immediately took his hand in her own, leaning against him; the warmth of her skin radiating through his vestments. She was careful not to smear any of the paint on her skin onto his clothes or face.

“Ma serannas, Vhenan,” She sighed as she traced his fingers with her opposite hand; the light green glow illuminating the lines of his palm.

“For what, my Heart?” He watched her long fingers, backlit by his magic, move over his own hand, and felt a tug in his chest.

“For getting me out of that _anbanal_ ,” She laughed, “and for this.”  
  
She leaned up and kissed him, briefly and chastely, gently pressing her lips to his own. When she pulled back, he looked in her eyes—and for a moment, panic struck through him like a bolt of lightning. There was deep and sincere love there…the kind that had such a weight to it, he could feel the heaviness of it in his own eyes.

“Ar lath ma, Halesta,” the whisper slipped from his lips before he even realized he was saying it.

 “Ar lath ma, Solas,” She sighed, smiling as she returned her head to his shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

* * *

 

She hadn’t quite nodded off when they arrived back at the Villa, but she had definitely fallen victim to her fatigue. She swayed unsteadily as Solas helped her from her carriage, and a servant stood ready for them, waiting to guide them to their rooms.

_Bless Josephine’s friends for letting us stay here. I would not survive the night at Halamshiral_ ….

  
She was led to, of course, due to her title, the largest of the guest wing rooms. As the servant turned to lead Solas away, down the hall to his own rooms, she stopped them.

“Solas, when you get settled, would you bring me a cup of Dragonthorn tea, please? If you don’t mind, that is.” She looked at him suppliantly.  
  
“Your Worship, one of the kitchen staff can deliver—”  
  
“The Inquisitor has had a long night and is, at the moment, not in the politically _safest_ of positions,” Solas gently touched the servant’s arm, his voice honeyed and persuasive. 

“Also, I wish the comfort found in the company of one of my most close and trusted advisors,” Eliana was practically announcing her intentions to the servant, and the small smile on Solas’s face made her feel as though her chest was glowing.

“Of course, Your Worship. As you wish,” The servant bowed, mirrored by Solas, before leading him down the hallway.  
  
Eliana slipped off her shoes, but instead of undressing just yet, walked through the rooms she was left in: looking around in both awe and slight surfeit at the extravagancy of her surroundings. Gold and marble everywhere. She imagined herself like a puppet in a dollhouse Celene might have had as a child; all dressed in and surrounded by finery. She became overwhelmed with repulsion at herself—dressed in a way she didn’t deserve, in a place she didn’t belong. Just as she began to feel the urge to tear at her clothes and hair, there was a knock on the door.  
  


“Vhenan? What is the matter?” Solas strode in, setting the tea down on a table as he strode towards her; his long legs making him seem to appear suddenly in front of her, grasping her arms to prevent her rending at herself. 

“This—It’s all wrong,” She felt her voice catch in her throat, almost a sob, “I don’t belong in this place, in this attire and these jewels.”

“ _Telahna_ , ma' vun. Ane venuralas. Though you graciously cast off any acceptance of it,” Solas took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, “You are undeniably deserving of more than this world could give you.”  
  


Eliana shook her head and pulled away, knowing he spoke only from a place of love; he didn’t know who she really was—but he grasped her wrist, and pulled her back, his eyes much more playful now, and his voice a deeper, raspier purr.

“Besides, I rather like the idea of removing your finery, myself….” His eyes, half-lidded and smoldering again, looked her up and down, sucked the air from her lungs.

“But first, your tea,” He chuckled at her sudden swoon, returning to gently close the door completely before retrieving her cup from the table, walking her to perch on the edge of the bed.

He knelt on the floor before her as she sipped, reaching his hands slowly up her skirts and removing the daggers from the loops in her leggings, one at a time. She found herself distracted, leaving the tea half-drunk and shaking against its saucer in her hands.

“Drink,” Solas ordered gently, reaching up and unlacing the front of her breeches, waiting for her to down the rest of the beverage before she lifted her hips, allowing him to slide them off—leaving her nude beneath her skirts, not having even bothered with small-clothes.  
But his hands had retreated from under her skirts as he had pulled off her leggings, and he didn’t yet return them back to the bare flesh beneath. Instead, he stood, taking the teacup and saucer from her hands and set them alongside her daggers on the bedside table before offering her his hand.  
  


“Stand for me, ma’ halevune,” He quietly commanded again, lifting her onto her feet and slowly twirling her a few steps away from the bed before placing his hands atop her shoulders firmly, whispering, “ _Josa’tel_.”  
  


He looked her over, very slowly, taking his time: tucking a loose strand back into the now-tousled updo Josie had styled, tugging gently at a curl that had fallen in front of her ear, barely tracing the gold-paint elaboration of her Vallaslin so as not to smear it. He ran his eyes down the front of her gown slowly, taking in the intricacies of the stitching and the clasp of her skirts. He took a step, and then another, now looking her back. She felt as though she were being inspected somehow, and felt herself quiver slightly.

His fingers brushed at the baby hairs at the base of her skull, slowly and lightly running his fingertips down her spine, into the dip at the small of her back. She felt his other hand tangle into her hair, tenderly pushing her forward, bending her at the waist slightly, so the hand on her back to press the pads of his fingers into the dimples at her hips. He lightly tugged her hair so she would straighten back up, and she rose again to her full height, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin.

His lips were suddenly brushing against her neck, just below her ear. Her eyes closed, and her head rolled back towards him, her lips parting slightly with the most silent of exhales. Little kisses down, until his mouth reached her scars, and then he bite hard, drawing a moan from her, intensifying the already tingling warmth stirring at her core. His kisses and nibbles moved down her back, his hands now grasped her hips as he knelt, skirting either side of the collar of her neck, his tongue expertly teasing the skin—then tracing down into the dip at the base of her spine. His fingers moved to the hidden buttons at the waist, deftly undoing them and leaving the top of the dress open now, as Eliana found herself panting quietly. Solas moved back around to face her, placing his hands back onto her shoulders and walking her back before lifting her onto the bed and climbing on top of her, all so seamlessly. She felt almost intoxicated by him—a puppet on his string.  
  
“You could kill me right now,” she whispered into his ear, his cheek against her own: no malice or bitterness in her voice, just the mere statement of fact and truth, and the trust she had placed in his powerful hands.

 “No, I cannot,” he murmured back, his voice almost sad, “Not right now, ma’ vhenan.” She understood the unspoken meaning, just as he did. They both knew they were at odds….  
  


But then his lips on hers, hard and hungry, needing and almost desperate. His tongue flitting hurriedly in her mouth, around her lips. He was tugging at her skirts—not at the clasp, but pulling them up from the bottom, which somehow seemed so much more… _stimulating_. Running his hand up her inner thigh, she felt his cool skin and something else—a sizzle, a spark; he had used his magic on her before, but this was somehow more focused and intense, but artlessly unintentional. He didn’t seem to realize he was even doing it: the magic was just trickling out of his fingertips and onto her skin, like a small leak in a dam…. And when his fingers finally slipped against the wet heat of her ache, they both let out a moan. He traced tiny circles over her clit, the electricity causing her mewls to come out stuttered: already beginning to climax—

But he pulled his hand back slightly, resting it against her thigh; she could feel his hand vaguely shaking as he regained a bit of his self-control, allowing her peak to subside before touching her again. This time more leisurely, more controlled: sliding two fingers inside her, curling just-so to make her call out for him as he languidly ground his hips into her thigh. His pace increased again, gradually, and her thoughts became less and less clear, until again, she was on the brink of orgasm—but she remembered her plan, and stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

He pulled back, looking at her face worriedly, his eyes searching her own, but she grinned wickedly and slowly pushed him onto his back as she rolled onto him, straddling his hips with her skirts still hiked up around her knees. She kissed him once, skirting the shape of his lips with her tongue before pressing her mouth to his and pulling back before he could grasp the back of her neck. Sliding down his body, she unclasped his vestments and began unlacing his trousers, pulling and tugging at them just enough to spring his cock free. She used her own magic this time, tracing a warmed fingertip from the tip to the base—pulling a groan from Solas—before wrapping her fingers around his girth, applying alternating pressure with just the tips pinky to index, one digit at a time earning her a growl.

She ever so gently nipped her teeth up one side and down the other, enjoying the squirming and twitching of his hips beneath her, before lathing her tongue from base to tip, lapping up the small dew drop that had accumulated there. And finally, she took him into her mouth, slowly working to taking as much of his cock as she could, tears gathering in her eyes as she massaged his length with her tongue and made as if attempting to swallow the tip. When he was slick with spittle, she bobbed her head and increased her rhythm, faster and faster. She had never enjoyed giving _Av'in’neral_ to the boys in her clan; on the few occasions she bothered to lay with them—but _this_ , with _Solas_ …this was satisfying.  
  
_I_ want _to do this…._

Suddenly, his hands were gripping her upper arms, pulling her up to face him, his eyes feral and fierce--yet full of such _pure_ adulation.

“Halesta,” Solas’s voice was huskily dulcet, “ _Ar isala slena inor ma._ ”

“Ame nar venira, ma’ Nas,” she breathed against his lips, looking into his perfect, tempest eyes.

Tenderly, he unclasped her skirts, and pulled the top down from her shoulders, peppering the crook of her neck and shoulders with kisses, as she removed the rest of his vestments, shirt and breeches. With seemingly impossible ease, he lifted her and brushed their clothing onto the floor, pulling her up, and then easing himself into her, fully hilted and resting his hands on her hips. She rocked slowly at first, maintaining eye contact, and slowly began—with little arches of her back—to ride him. Soon she was bounding against him, his strong hands pulling her down harder and faster into him, until her head was tossed back and she was matching his every moan with a gasp—and finally her body shuddered and convulsed against, around him. He called out her name, but it sounded so far away, like she was hearing him through water, but she felt him fill her.  
  


Eliana couldn’t seem to move of her own accord, but he pulled her gently down, resting her head against his. She felt his fingers lazily remove the combs and pins from her hair, lovingly smoothing it out into its cream curls, kissing the top of her head before rolling her over onto her back, spread out like a body that had fallen from a great height. She tried to keep her eyes open, but her eyelids were heavy, and she felt him stand and heard him walk away from the bed. Soon after, she felt a cool, damp cloth on her face, caringly wiping away the paint from her face. Solas continued to dip the cloth in the porcelain basin he had found, ringing it out, bathing her neck, chest, her arms and legs. He whispered sweetly in Elvhen, helping her roll over onto her stomach before repeating the act on her back, shoulders, and with a playful bite, her ass. He moved away again, and she wordlessly prayed he wasn’t leaving, but her fears were quelled when he laid beside her again on his side; propped up on his elbow and tracing his fingers down her back. She opened her eyes one last time, meeting his gaze.

“You could kill me right now,” she repeated, barely a whisper, and he smiled warmly.

“I could,” he murmured back: no malice or bitterness, mere statement of fact, brushing the hair out of her face.

 “I s’ppose we’ll find out in the morning,” she breathed, her eyes finally shutting for the night. She drifted into darkness swiftly, but managed to catch his last chuckle.  
  


“I suppose we shall, Vhenan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Halevune’udh: Little Moon-fox  
> Ma serannas: My thanks, Thank you  
> Anbanal: Hell, Void, Place of nothingness  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Telahna, ma' vun: Hush, my light/sun/life  
> Ane venuralas: You are divine/god-like  
> Ma’ Halevune: My Moon-fox  
> Josa’tel: Do not move  
> Av'in’neral: Oral sex, lit. Mouth pleasure  
> Ar isala slena inor ma: I need/desperately desire to slide between/betwixt/among (lit. inside of) you  
> Ame nar venira, ma’ Nas: I am yours to master, my Soul/Heart.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> All my love! <3 xoxoxoxxox


	45. You Can't Spell Danger Without "Lavellan"....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the name makes no sense, butttt  
> Eliana found out she's going home,  
> worries for her brother's safety,  
> and THEN gets a foreboding letter....
> 
> BUM BUM BUMMMM!!!!
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, and for putting up  
> with my months of writer's block and depression!  
> I love you all! MUAH! <3 <3 <3

  
Solas hadn’t been present the morning after the Grand Ball when Leliana and Josephine told his Vhenan that she would be going to her brother’s _Saota_. Eliana didn’t mention it to him; even after he received a missive from Leliana confirming their trip and briefing of the plan the advisors had come up with. In fact, for the 3 days since they left Halamshiral, little Halesta seemed to pointedly avoid any topic that could lead back around to the bonding ritual being mentioned. 

            _Well, the missive_ did _say it was of the utmost secrecy, even amongst her friends and companions._

He watched her riding Da’assan up ahead of him, next to Dorian. She was laughing at some remark the Altus had made and looked happier than she had since they had left the Western Approach. He thought about how bittersweet his love for her was, how it was almost more pain than joy. He wished, for a moment, he were a Spirit, like Cole: unable to feel romantic love, and seemingly happier for it.

“You don't need to envy me, Solas,” The Spirit seemed to appear beside him, as usual, from thin air, though he was still astride the horse the Inquisitor got him, “You are learning to find happiness in your own way.”

“I apologize for disturbing you, Cole,” Solas sighed slightly, before offering a weak smile, “I am not a spirit, and sometimes it is hard to remember such simple truths.”

“They are not gone so long as you remember them,” Cole’s voice had become less evocative since his… _transition._  

“I know.”  
 

“But you _could_ let them go,” the Spirit’s monotonous tone seemed more insistent somehow, or perhaps urging. Solas looked at his friend, brow furrowing with confusion.

“I know that as well,” He found his own voice more stern than he intended.  
  
  
“You didn't do it to be right,” Cole’s voice once again uncolored, matter-of-fact, “You did it to save them.”

“What is it you’re talking about, Cole?” Eliana called over her shoulder, and he became aware that the distance between the two pairs of riders had reduced significantly.

“A mistake,” Solas answered first, “One of many made by a much younger elf, one certain he knew everything.”

“You weren't wrong, though,” The Spirit nodded once, looking forward at no one in particular. 

“Thank you, Cole.”  
  
  
Eliana’s eyes moved from Cole to him; the only hint at her concern was the momentary tautness at the corner of her mouth already turning into a tight-lipped smile at Solas instead, nudging Da’assan into a light gallop. Dorian caught his gaze with a raised brow before nudging his own mount after her. Solas wasn’t sure what exactly was wrong—if he had done something to offend her, or if she was more aware of his secret than he thought—but either way, he found himself, to his chagrin, distraught.

 

* * *

 

 

Eliana waited for Dorian to catch up—they were at a safe enough distance from the large caravan returning to Skyhold that they could speak without fear of being heard.

“So, he hasn’t mentioned it to you at all?” Dorian knew exactly what was on her mind, looking over with an eyebrow cocked and loving concern on his gorgeous face.

“No. Not a word,” She looked forward again as she sighed, but not allowing her body language to betray her, “Though, Leliana said it was _his_ suggestion.”

“And, despite all of the lovey-dovey ‘Veh-nayn’ drivel, you still don’t trust him?”

“It’s _Vhenan_ ,” she chuckled, shooting Dorian a half-hearted glare, “And it’s more complicated than that. I know _I’m_ in danger from him—” The mage teasingly interjected with a wink.

“Best to keep your enemies _as close as possible—_ ”

“But if the Wolf thinks my brother knows what I know,” she continued without pause, meeting her dearest friend’s eyes with intensity, “then _Gal_ will be in danger, too. And he is innocent of any real information or involvement.”

“And you still refuse to tell me what _exactly_ it is you know,” Dorian rolled his eyes, “Presumably for the same reason.”

“For _precisely_ that reason. And also because _you_ are bedding a Ben-Hassrath spy—and one that I love dearly! _—_ But I can’t have pillow-talk leading to the Qun, the Venatori, or anyone else showing up and massacring my clan.”

Her voice had started stern, but ended pleadingly. Dorian looked at her with such heartbreaking worry, reaching out between their mounts and touching her cheek, almost apologetically.

 

“My little Elie,” His voice was soft and repentant, “I love you so. I don’t believe I’ve ever had such a true friend.” 

“Dor, I know you would never betray me,” She placed her hand on top of his own; grasping it as it fell, so they rode holding hands, “And I doubt Bull would either. I just have to protect _all of you_ now, not just my kin. I’m the Inquisitor.”

“And here I thought we were to be protecting _you_ ,” Dorian smiled at her, squeezing her hand gently. 

Eliana smiled back, but the fear that had been sitting in her chest since Josie and Leliana first gave her word of her “surprise” was still there; it had merely been pushed back into a dark corner to be addressed when she was alone. She turned her options over and over in her mind as they rode silently for awhile. Solas _was_ coming with her to Clan Lavellan: there was no way around it. But Galifalon could not be in danger.

She had only one hope, one friend that Solas listen to…one friend he would believe.  


That night, camp was made at what was technically the foot of the Frostbacks, though they were still half a day’s ride to the actual road through the passes. Eliana stood at the edge of camp and looked at the reflection of the moon off of the snowcapped peaks: it was the kind of splendor exclusive to nature, like the forest in the early morning fog, or the sea shore in the early hours of the morning after a storm. The mountains seemed so close and yet so far away, like she could reach out and touch them. She had delayed until after dinner before wandering off, making sure to wait until she was least likely to be missed. 

_Cole, I need you. Please.  
_  

In a swirl of Fade-green mist the Spirit appeared, as if he had been waiting for her to call for him. She smiled at him warmly, and he reached out a hand—one of the small gestures of physical contact he was easy with, knowing how deeply she relied on touch as a source of comfort.

“You are scared,” He stated, as straightforward as ever.

“Yes…my brother—I-I need a favor.” She spoke honestly to her friend, aware he already knew what she would ask of him.

“‘ _His blood is my blood’…._ Solas wonders what he knows. If he knows as much as you. _‘My Galifalon, my last blood-kin’_ ,” Cole tilted his chin slightly, looking into Eliana’s eyes.

“He knows nothing more than that I was sent away for killing our Mamae’s murderers, and that now I am the Inquisitor. He knows nothing of the Conclave or why Deshanna protects me,” Eliana squeezed Cole’s palm just barely, her eyes urgent and imploring, “Solas would never harm the inculpable. _Please_ , make sure he knows that Galifalon knows nothing that would threaten Solas’s cause.”

“Yes. Protect the innocent, the small. Heal the hurt,” Cole nodded wisely, “I will make sure Solas knows. Your Galifalon will be safe.”

“Thank you, Cole. You mean a great deal to me. And to Solas,” Eliana released the Spirit’s hand and smiled at him again.

“I know. I am happy to help,” Cole’s tone unvaried as he turned to walk away before stopping not too far away. His voice was whispering then, over his shoulder but sounding much closer to her ear, “ _Nasanor’fen_ …. Halesta is the only one who can stop him: one way or the other.” 

And once again the Spirit was gone in a puff of faint, shimmering green.

“Inquisitor?” She recognized Solas’s voice approaching behind her; he hadn’t been close enough to hear her conversation with Cole, though she suspected that the emerald light in the puff of the Spirit’s disappearance no doubt drew his eye.

“Messere,” She turned to face his nearing form as he stepped out of the tree cover and into the moonlight bathing the little ridge where she stood. She could see his raised brow and near-smirk at the appellation.  
  
  
“Messere?” His tone amused and his gait was somehow playful, one long, slow stride, each step towards her a perfectly straight line.

“ _Inquisitor_?” Eliana countered, matching his cocked brow with her own.

“Ir abelas, Vhenan,” He was close now, smiling as though she had made a clever quip, and bent to brush his lips against hers before straighten again, “I wondered where you had run off to.”

“Just admiring the lovely change of scenery,” she smiled, gesturing to the glimmering Frostbacks, noticing how tense she felt near him and trying to appear relaxed.  
 

“Mm. There are Spirits hovering near the Veil to observe the thrones of Nations. The machinations, betrayals….” She looked up at him to see him staring off trance-like at the mountain range, “After our time in Halamshiral, I understand why. I had forgotten how I missed Court intrigue.”

_How often does an Apostate elf spend in Court? He’ll probably just try to feed me that same “Fade travels” story.  
_  

“I’m pleased you enjoyed yourself,” she chuckled slightly, picturing him in one of those ridiculous ensembles like Gaspard was wearing.

“In any event, Celene should be a steadfast ally,” Solas ( _of course_ ) brought up politics, “and Briala as well, thanks to your efforts on her behalf.”

“I hope she will use her position to help our People,” Eliana sighed dubiously at her own statement.

“ _Our_ People? Who are—”

Solas looked at her as if she had just vomited up a dragonling, whole; leaving Eliana with a look of obvious bafflement before realizing his blunder. 

“Oh, you mean elves! I'm sorry, I was confused. I do not consider myself to have much in common with the elves.”  
  
            _Of course you don’t._

“Who _do_ you have much in common with?” She kept her tone playfully curious over her probing, “Who are _your_ People?”

“A good question. I joined the Inquisition to save the world. Regardless of who ‘my People’ are, it was the best way to help them.” He smiled, seeming relieved when she didn’t call him out.

_You should be in charge of strategic evasive maneuvers, Wolf.  
_  

“As for the elves of Orlais,” He continued, “I believe Briala is doing quite well on their behalf. She is an admirable woman.” Eliana struggled to bite back a scoff.

_I will hold my tongue in regard to Briala….Change the subject._

“ _You_ , I believe, are the admirable one,” she leaned slightly, bumping his hip with her own, “Very few people know who they are as well as you, Solas.” 

He turned and looked at her, eyes searching her face for a moment before his gaze locked with hers. He looked…genuinely surprised and notably grateful for the slyly dichotomous compliment. 

“Thank you. Both for saying that and…for seeing that,” his face was rather wistfully hopeful, and the most open and unguarded Eliana had ever witnessed, “Few in this world can see me.” He paused slightly, she could hear the sound of his breath.  
  
“Instead of just a pair of pointed ears,” He chuckled bitterly then, breaking the spell she had unknowingly fallen under.  
  
“Yeah, and a marred face,” she added with a sneer as she stared at her feet, pinching the tip of one of her ears.

  
“…Vhenan,” His tone was hesitant and full of something resembling pity, but not quite—causing Eliana to lift her chin sharply to search his face.

He was just looking at her with a torn expression, his mouth opening and closing a couple times, as if he was about to say something, but thought better of it; instead, leaning down and pressing his lips softly to hers.

“You are everything,” Solas looked into her eyes, his expression as confident as if he had been asked about some ancient Elvhen artifact.

And yet, she didn’t feel like enough.

 

* * *

 

Solas found himself (unintentionally) missing Eliana, even while she had been accessible, during their return to Skyhold. They were on the last leg of the trip, and though she was often seeking him out for both conversation and companionable silence, she had remained somewhat guarded. It didn’t help that she had been provided her own tent (as was fitting for a person of her title), and they were in a much more sizable cavalcade than usual. He missed her warmth curled against him at night, the way she often hummed quietly to herself until she fell asleep, the smell of her hair filling the tent when she brushed her curls before bed. He still found her in the Fade as they dreamt, telling her stories, showing her historical events; sometimes just sitting in silence and holding hands, watching the Fade bend and change around them.  
On the last night of camping in the Frostbacks, he could not find her in the Fade, though he searched for quite a while.

_She isn’t asleep_.

He woke to the sounds of hushed but urgent voices outside his tent. He pulled on his shirt and tunic, and emerged to see Eliana standing amongst her advisors and Dorian, who had wrapped her in a blanket and was rubbing her back, consolingly. She looked fiercely distressed, almost angry….

“I could send word to the Duke of Wycome—It would be fastest, and he is an Inquisition ally!” Josephine was holding Eliana’s hand between her own as Solas approached. 

“Even allies cannot be entirely trusted; it is strange that he would have such aggressive bandits so close to his duchy,” Leliana’s tone was skeptical as she eyed the missive he could now see crumpled in Eliana’s hand, “My skirmishers can harass their flanks and give the Dalish a chance to retreat safely while I uncover the truth.”

  
“What is the matter, Inquisitor?” He approached so that she could see him before he was at her side, keeping his tone even and low. She didn’t turn to him, merely handed him the half-balled letter without a word.

 

 

> _Da'len,_
> 
> _I would not trouble you normally. You have enough on your shoulders, fighting ancient Tevinter magisters while representing your people. Unfortunately, the rifts that plague this land have spread chaos and fear along with them, and many seek to take advantage of it._
> 
> _Bandits are attacking Clan Lavellan. The raiders are well armed and heavily armored, and they come in numbers our hunters cannot match. We had settled in a small unclaimed valley not far from Wycome, a safe place with few rifts—but these bandits may force us to seek a new home, and with your upcoming arrival for Galifalon’s Saota…. If your Inquisition can help, you might save our clan much hardship._
> 
> _Dareth shiral.  
>                         _ _—Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellan_

  
Solas scanned over the words twice, making sure to have gleaned all possible information, before handing it back to his Vhenan, meeting Dorian’s concerned expression with his own grim: jaw set tight, and fighting to control the heat of rage he felt rising in his chest.

“No simple bandits would attack a Dalish camp with such force. My troops can give the Dalish much-needed support. We can send them straight from here, allow them to take the rest of our supplies, since we’ll have returned to Skyhold by tomorrow afternoon,” Cullen offered gently, and Eliana’s eyes rose to meet the Commanders before, surprisingly, turning to look at Solas.

“ _Lasa ghilan_ , Hahren,” She spoke lowly, her eyes trusting and showing fear for her people.  
 

“I agree with the Commander: these seem too powerful to be mere bandits,” He caught Cullen’s surprised glance at his agreement, “Send the Commander’s troops and a few of Sister Leliana’s skirmishers. Immediately. And do not warn the Duke of Wycome that you will be coming. The Left Hand is correct, this is suspicious….I also suggest Lady Josephine send someone to Wycome to assess the situation, discreetly.”

“The Duke believes himself an ally of the Inquisition. My ambassadors can go where Leliana's agents cannot,” Josephine nodded thoughtfully, brightening up at her inclusion. 

Eliana’s eyes held his for a long moment, a look somewhere between uncertainty, hope, and love. Then she turned to her Advisors.  
  
“I believe we’ll follow Messere Solas’s advice, here. He has the objective sense of mind to cover all fronts. Any opposed?” Her voice was still quiet, but firm and more assured now.

Her Advisors all confirmed their agreement with the plan and immediately split off to take care of their individual preparatory duties. Eliana turned to Dorian to hug him, and he kissed the top of her head lovingly as he met Solas’s eyes, nodding a smile to the Apostate.

“If you’ll pardon me now, my dove, I must return to my beauty sleep. I leave you in the most _capable_ hands of our Elven scholar,” Dorian managed to keep his face controlled in a comforting and polite smile, as he gently nudged Eliana towards Solas. 

“Of course, my sweet,” She smiled back, wearily, “If you don’t look your best, no one else will!”  
  
“I must remain a Paragon of Virtuous Magnificence,” the Altus said dramatically as he turned with a sweeping bow and headed back to his tent.

Eliana turned back to Solas, then. He realized the distance between them was markedly farther than he would normally stand…he must have subconsciously put on a show for the Advisors. He took a step towards her and she tilted her face up to meet his gaze.

“Ma' serannas, Hahren,” she sighed, looking physically a little weak.

“Ra din telsila, da’len. Ane san?” He gently placed a hand on the back of her neck, and she smiled as she nodded.

“It will be impossible to sleep tonight,” she huffed slightly, one corner of her rosy, wind-chapped lips pulled tightly, and she slowly leaned into him.

“I believe I may have a way to assist with that,” His tone even and face expressionless as she pulled back slightly to eye him with mischievous notion. 

“Oh? Well, any help you can provide, Hahren, I would be indebt to you,” her eyes wide and innocent fluttering lashes, allowing him to guide her back to her tent.

“Ma’ neral, Halevune’udh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Saota: Marriage, bonding  
> Mamae: Mother  
> Nasanor’fen: lit. Heart/Soul of the Wolf  
> Ir abelas: My apologies, I am sorry  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Dareth shiral: Used as a farewell; it means "Safe journey"  
> Lasa ghilan: Grant/give wisdom  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ra din telsila: It is no bother  
> Ane san: Are you okay/ok?, You are okay/ok? (“san” is short for Eolasan)  
> Ma’ neral: My pleasure  
> Halevune’udh: Little Moonfox
> 
>  
> 
> LOVE TO ALL OF YOU  
> who have continued to stick with  
> me through the past few months,  
> Eliana & I appreciate and love you!  
> xoxoxoxo
> 
> **And, of course, extra loooove to the lovelies:**  
>  **juliaxsnyder,** , [**Aisln**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisln/pseuds/Aisln), **&** [**BriarRose**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aryael/pseuds/BriarRose)


	46. Fendehis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly just irrational  
> and plotless smut <3
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so so for reading!  
> My darlings!! MUAH! <3 <3

Eliana had been restless since their return to Skyhold. She knew she was probably wearing a groove in the floors, but she couldn’t help it. Josephine and Leliana had tried to best distract her: helping her arrange for the wedding present for her brother—a golden halla—and briefing her on the travel strategy, but she could barely sit still. Now she was, once again, walking the entirety of the battlements.  
  
            _Maybe I’ll feel better once we’re on our way there.  
_  

She bitterly laughed aloud to herself, knowing she wouldn’t feel any ease until she had the letters from the Inquisition’s people, and even then, what if….  


“Din, Vhenan,” She started at the voice, turning to see Solas standing still about six paces behind her with his hands clasped behind his back.  
  
“ _Fendehis_ , Solas!” She placed her hand over her heart briefly before returning it to her side and balling it into a fist, “Don’t do that!”  
  
“Stop you from thinking about the worst possible scenario?” He tilted his head, though his chin lifted slightly, as though disapproving of her tone.

“No,” she gave him a glare, “Don’t sneak up on me.”  
  
“ _I_ did not ‘sneak’, da’len,” he almost sneered, but catching himself, tried to look sympathetic instead, “You merely were not alert. You were distracted, imagining the slaughter of your Clan, of your brother.” 

“Ame sule'vi'inast ra sul'ememah ma ir neral,” Eliana hissed through her teeth, having taken several strides forward without meaning to.  
  
  
The silence that hung for a long moment between them was heavy with her accusation, the suggested weight of her knowledge, and she realized she was in danger of completely giving herself away. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned to look out over the endless expanse of mountaintops, draped and hidden amongst clouds. She softened her tone. 

“The Dalish are nothing but foolish, uncivil barbarians to your _experienced wisdom_ ,” She chose her words carefully, and hardly even had to force the sob that followed, “but _these_ Dalish are _my family_ , Hahren!”  


That seemed to re-place their careful façade of feigned mutual ignorance, as he now approached her slowly, allowing his footfall to be heard.

“Vhenan,” His voice was taut, but apologetic, “I do not wish the loss of the Dalish, least of all _your_ family. I was simply trying to—”

“Upbraid me for expecting the worst, I know,” she sighed and leaned back into him as he placed his hands on her hips, “Ir abelas, Hahren.”  
  
“Do not apologize, da’len. Try, instead, to train your thoughts,” He murmured into her hair, briefly causing her thoughts to muddle and cease altogether, “Tell me of our travel plans.”  
  
“I—Um,” She tried to focus, but his breath was on her neck now, and his slight chuckle sent deep vibrations through her back into her chest.  
  
“Yes?” He prompted teasingly, his voice low and heady, and she turned to face him. He smoothly stepped back and away slightly, causing her to “hmph” and pout, though she was fighting a smile.  
 

“By the Dread Wolf, Solas, what’s gotten into you?” She let a chuckle slip as she shook her head at him.  
  
“Come, it’s nearly dinner,” he began to walk back towards the catwalk to the Rotunda, but she grabbed his hand, stopping him, and he turned back to find his face very close to her own.  
  
“Dhava em i’ve, Hahren,” she muttered gravelly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes with her most alluring smolder—but was rewarded with a mere fleeting, chaste kiss before he turned again, attempting to subdue the satisfied smirk on his face as she growled at his back.  
  
  
            _Damn that Wolf._

 

* * *

  
Solas returned from the kitchens to find Eliana in one of her less modest night-shirts, and stretched out casually on his divan. She was reading some book or other she had found laying around nearby—as if entirely indifferent to the possibility that, though Skyhold was mostly asleep, someone could come waltzing through the Rotunda at any given moment. 

She didn’t look up or speak when he entered, so he pointedly ignored her and carefully set his cup of warm milk next to the sketches on his desk. Solas had been spending most of his time since their return working on the preparatory outline for his newest fresco panel, depicting the Inquisitor at the Winter Palace. He did not intend to begin the actual fresco until they returned from Clan Lavellan, but his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, his arms and hands stained with blue and gold, black and white from blending pigments. He sat in his chair and looked over the various sketches, already having picked out his favorite.  
  
  
“Hahren…” Eliana’s voice was soft and quiet, but had a darker, seductively husky quality that he wasn’t sure he had noticed before. He knew she was playing at some game, and he didn’t look up; frustrating her with his inattention often resulted the most rewardingly.  


“Hm?” He allowed his eyes to continue skimming over the pages in front of him.

“You noted here on Falon’Din, ‘ _it is said that his appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers_ ’,” he looked up to see her eyes skimming the page, running a slender finger along the line of words as she read, “but you don’t mention a source?”

She lifted her head to meet his eyes, bright and innocently curious, titling her head slightly in her usual way. He immediately grew irritated.

“Where do I usually find my sources, Vhenan?” He sighed, his expression was one of meretricious exasperation. He did not feel like playing _this_ game with her again today.

“I assumed as much, but your phrasing indicates this wasn’t something you witnessed in the Fade,” She probed lightly, looking back to the book, “So, I suppose it was a Spirit?” 

_Eolasalast da'hale…._  


“Your supposition would be correct, da’len,” He smiled at her, tautly. She furrowed her brow, though kept her eyes wide, and he watched as she jutted her bottom lip out slightly in a pout.

“Am I bothering you, Hahren?” Her voice was soft and concerned, but he could detect the smallest undertone of annoyance. 

“It is simply very late, Inquisitor,” He sighed, looking back at his papers.  


She didn’t reply, and he assumed she remained pouting at him—until she silently slid onto his desk in front of him, placing a small and slender foot on the chair beneath him, each en point on either side of his legs. Eliana was only about eye-level with him, even perched on the desk, but he could see the pale pink of her nipples through her night-shirt. She reached out and gently lifted the jawbone that hung from the leather cords around his neck, not tugging but examining it: running her fingers over the topography, over the knife-marks and dents and empty sockets where teeth had been jarred loose. A low, thoughtful hum emanated from her, nearly silent as she turned the bone over in her hand.

  
“You haven’t come to see me since we got back,” her voice was quiet and passive, and she didn’t look up at him, continuing her study of the totem.

“This is the first you have come to see me, is it not?” He cocked an eyebrow, remaining expressionless and monotone. 

She dropped the jaw and with swift elegance, removed herself from his desk, her bare feet landing silently on the stone floor.

“You’re right. How thoughtless of me,” her tone was still soft and docile, but there was no mistaking the hurt in her voice. By the time he had lifted his head, turning to look at her, she was already at the door to the Hall, silently pushing it open.  


“Good evening, Commander. Varric.” He could no longer see her as she turned the corner, but could hear the strain in her polite manner, almost a choke. 

“Inquisitor,” The reply was in unison, and as she made her way down to her quarters, Solas could hear the Commander and the Dwarf muttering to each other.  


“You okay there, Curly?” Varric’s murmur was thick with amusement, no doubt from the look on Cullen’s face.

“I—Erm, yes…. Yes. Should I—?”  
  
“I wouldn’t. You know.” Solas could imagine Varric nodding his head to the cracked door of the Rotunda. Cullen sighed heavily. 

“Yes. You’re right.” There was a long pause, and then, “Well, I’m off to bed. Goodnight, Varric.”  
  
“Goodnight, Curly. Oh and, ah,” Varric’s voice dipped low again, “I’d take the long way ‘round, maybe?”  
  
“Wh—Oh. Yes. Good idea.”  
 

_Thank you, Master Tethras._

 

* * *

  
Eliana tore at her curls, snatching at them carelessly in her humiliation. What had _she_ done to deserve his rejection? Her hair caught the brush and stuck, her hand sliding off of the handle—the final straw. She let the comb hang as she started to sob.

            _What are you even doing, you foolish child? You knew better. You have more important things to worry about right now than your _insane _crush on that stupid Wolf—_  


She noted that there hadn’t been a knock when she heard the footsteps on the stairs, but she didn’t bother to look or even move. She only sat up a little straighter, sniffling as quietly as she could, trying to regain her composure. She felt the long fingers in her hair, and then came the scent of ancient books, freshly-turned soil, and the exquisite spice of Royal Elfroot. _Solas_.  
 

He managed to tenderly untangle the brush from her locks, unsnarling the remainder of the knot, before holding the comb out to her. Her hand brushed his as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, and something that had been sitting deep down inside her for a long time—it finally snapped.  
  
She threw the comb across the room and was up, snatching the daggers off her desk before turning to face Solas; he is already standing with his barrier around him, one hand behind his back as the other is raised languidly with his fingers towards the ceiling, almost touching. His face was as vacant as ever, though she knows she saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, frustrated. She sneered at him, taking one silent step to her right before letting a dagger fly—but it missed. He had Fade-stepped in that instant, appearing in front of her, a strong and elegant hand holding each.  


“Don’t touch me,” she hissed through gritted teeth, tilting her one remaining dagger only inches from his throat, but Solas didn’t bat a lash.

“Felas mar'lan,” His tone was commanding. Who was _he_ to order her? She locked her eyes with his, her rage and bloodlust bubbling to the surface…but Solas merely stared down his nose at her. The pure hostility in their locked gaze, months and months of irritation, the constant testing and prying for information, all tangible in the air between them.

“Ma tel’gya _raja em_ thu siljosa,” She all but spat at him, but Solas’s eyes were the darkest grey, the most tempestuous she’d ever seen, causing a shudder down her spine.

Her momentary fear must have flickered across her face, because he released her wrists then, though he slipped the remaining dagger out from the hand near his neck, tossing it aside. As soon as she was free, though, she shoved him with both hands, driving a surprising amount of force into his chest; but he only took one stabilizing step back, bracing himself for her second push. He remained immovable, and his expression was passive but for the faintest flare of his nostrils.   


“Enough," His voice dripped venom, but his constant calm only infuriated her.

She slung an elbow at him, but he caught it, spinning her with a single hand past side of the bed and into the stone wall. Eliana hit the wall, face first, with enough force to feel the spots on her collarbone and cheek that would bruise, as Solas firmly pinned her with just the weight of his hip at the small of her back. 

“ _Felas mar'lan_ , Halesta,” he repeated in his low, poisonous voice, but she merely thrashed and fought against him.  
  
  
He simply increased the weight of his body resting against her, pushing her more firmly into the cold stone as he once again grasped her wrists, pinning them against the wall above her in a single hand.  
  
“Fenedhis lasa,” Eliana’s whisper revealed her seething fury, her upper lip curling in scorn—but he grasped her chin with his free hand, turning her neck slightly further than comfortable, before engulfing her mouth with his own.

There was no sweetness, no tenderness behind his lips. It was painful and feral and wild, and she found herself pushing back against his mouth, pressing her body back against his—Eliana had never felt so aroused in her life. She was small next to him, but she was a force of nature in her own right: teeth biting down hard into his bottom lip and drawing blood, sucking hard until her own mouth was tinted red and forcing a deep growl from his chest.  
  
He released her chin and dragged his nails up her thigh, digging in deeply enough to leave the skin torn in their wake. He raked his fingers farther up, pulling her night-shirt up around her waist artlessly before slipping his hand beneath her smalls, roughly sliding his fingers against the delicate skin. She mewled and tried to drop her weight to press herself against his hand, but he pulled away just slightly. Her frustrated groan turned to a sharp gasp as he pulled her wrists down behind her head, gathering a portion of hair and tugging furiously.  


“Ma isala min?” His voice was a raspy whisper, tinged with anger, but briefly uncertain, and unwilling to…well….  
  
            _Wolf or not, he’s still the same man._  
  
  
“Yes, Solas,” she barely breathed the words, “Please.” 

He wasted no time in yanking down her small clothes and pushing her face back against the wall with cautious control, her hands knotted with her own curls in his grasp at the back of her neck. captive in his hand when he thrusts himself inside her from behind. Eliana was crashing back against him, whimpering so wantonly, she earned an appreciative moan from Solas as his relentless force driving into her lifted her feet slightly off the ground.

She peaked with force, his name both a curse and a prayer on her lips. The feeling of her body tightening around him, bringing his own orgasm immediately afterward. His head fell against her shoulder blade, his breath hitching with every continuing, rolling spasm of her body. His hands soften against her own, loosening his grip before lowering his hands and placing them tenderly on her waist.

“Ir ablelas, Solas,” Her panting left her voice shaky and cracked as he pulled away. She swore she could hear his voice before he disappeared.  


_“Ar lath ma, Halesta. Ma Vhenan.”_

 

* * *

****  
Falon'Din:  
Friend of the Dead, the Guide:                      

" _The People swore their lives to Falon'Din_  
_Who mastered the dark that lies._  
_Whose shadows hunger_  
_Whose faithful sing_  
_Whose wings of death surround him_  
_Thick as night._

_Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide,_  
_Through shapeless worlds and airless skies._ ”

──Song to Falon'Din

 

In ancient times, the People were ageless and eternal, and instead of dying would enter Uthenera—the long sleep—and walk the shifting paths beyond the Veil with Falon'Din and his brother Dirthamen. Those elders would learn the secrets of dreams, and some returned to the People with newfound knowledge.

But we quickened and became mortal. Those of the People who passed walked with Falon'Din into the Beyond and never returned. If they took counsel with Dirthamen on their passage, his wisdom was lost, for it went with them into the Beyond also, and never came to the People.

Then Fen'Harel caused the gods to be shut away from us, and those who passed no longer had Falon'Din to guide them. And so we learned to lay our loved ones to rest with an oaken staff, to keep them from faltering along the paths, and a cedar branch, to scatter the ravens named Fear and Deceit who were once servants of Dirthamen, now without a master.

**~~~**

_Inquisitor—_

_I do not believe they sing songs about Falon'Din's vanity. It is said Falon'Din's appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn't bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon'Din's hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late. Falon'Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple._

_—S_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din: No  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Fendehis: Common curse, eq. of shit, or crap (lit. “Wolf cock”)  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Ame sule'vi'inast ra: I am certain that/it  
> Sul'ememah ma ir neral: is bringing you much pleasure  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies  
> Dhava em i’ve: Kiss me before/beforehand/first  
> Eolasalast: Clever, understanding  
> Da'hale: Little Fox  
> Felas mar'lan: Calm/slow yourself/your person  
> Ma tel’gya raja em thu siljosa: You do not dare command me how to act/behave  
> Fenedhis lasa: Go suck a wolf’s cock  
> Ar lath ma: I love you
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you babies for reading <3 xoxoxox


	47. Suledin (Endure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even good news can overwhelm someone   
> as over-pressured as the Inquisitor.
> 
> Pretty much just emotions and fluff.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading!   
> Muahmuahmuah! <3 <3

 

“So, you’re right back to where you were before?”

It was before dawn, and Dorian was helping Eliana finish up some last-minute packing. The kept their voices low; any minute someone would start up the stairs to tell them it was time to go. After their…ah…“fight”, she and Solas had returned to behaving amicably civil, sometimes even affectionate.   
  
“It seems like it,” Eliana sighed as she tugged her book from beneath the mattress and tossing it in her rucksack.   
  
“Is that a bad thing?” Dorian was digging through her dresser, grabbing all of her small clothes and placing most in the trunk at his feet, “Remind me, why are we going to Denerim first, again?”  
  
“Alibi,” She sighed, taking the remainder of underclothes and placing them in her bag, “And I guess? If he _is_ who—what—I think he is, I’m only alive because he _wants_ me alive. I just can’t figure out _why_ ….”  
  
Eliana trailed off, her eyes searching the pattern on the duvet aimlessly as she wracked her brain— 

            _I must be useful in some capacity…Necessary, even….  
  
  
_ “Every think maybe it’s because he _loves_ you?” Dorian had his chin against his chest, brows raised and his smirking, pursed lips hinting he believed she was purposefully dismissing the obvious. 

“Even if he does, there’s more than that,” She tossed her head slightly in frustration, casting her braid over her shoulder and down her back.

  
Just then there was a sharp rap on her door; the visitant not waiting for a response before quick steps could be heard moving up the stairs.  
  
“Inquisitor, are you ready?” Josie stood, beaming, at the top of the stairs.

“Good morning, Josie,” Eliana smiled, pitching her rucksack over her shoulder as she turned, “Yes, I’m pretty sure I’m all set. How about you, Josie? You seem excited.”  
  
“All this misdirection and subterfuge! I feel like a young Bard again,” The Ambassador giggled, “Come down to breakfast, you two. I’ll send up people for your trunks.”

Dorian looked back at Eliana with a grin and a cocked eyebrow as Josephine bounded back down the stairs.

“Well, this will be fun,” He chuckled wickedly as he closed up the trunk at his feet, “Ready, my Vixen?”

“Ready as I will ever be, I suppose,” Eliana shrugged, but couldn’t resist a smile. If this all worked out, if her Clan was okay, it would be so worth it.

 

* * *

 

   
Eliana was already at the stables, laughing with Dorian and Blackwall, firmly securing her saddle bag to Da’assan, who was lovingly lipping at her hair. Solas had struggled with his emotions since the other night: she obviously knew _something_ (frustrating him, as he could not figure out what or how much), she feared him (which, while satisfying, also brought on a sense of guilt), and she loved him… making his chest fight between a fluttering lightness, and the heaviness of pain and guilt.

But he had already decided he would not think on it, any of it, until their return from her Clan. It was going to take nearly 2 and a half weeks, even on horseback, just to reach Denerim, and then another week to reach her Clan. She was paving a way for him, making his goals that much easier to achieve. He owed her this small chance at a pleasant memory; he owed her this at the very least.  


“On'dhea, Hahren,” She had caught him staring at her as he approached and offered him a warm grin. 

“On'dhea, Vhenan,” Solas returned the smile, close enough now to each out and gently pat her mount’s neck as he addressed the horse.   
  
“On’dhea, Da’assan. Josathe min'vir.”

He turned back to see Eliana looking at him curiously, her grin faded to a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. He widened his own smile slightly and reached out for her hand. Her amethyst eyes were soft as they watched him raise her hand towards his face, and then met his eyes as he pressed the purest of kisses to the inside of her wrist, to the beryl veins beneath her pale skin. He smiled again as she dropped her eyes, and he watched an easy blush rise onto her cheeks and over the tips of her ears.  
  
“Get a room, you two!” Dorian’s joke, and Blackwall’s wolf-whistle, broke the daze, and Eliana gently shoved her friend with a smile.   
  
  
Solas moved over to secure his own bag to Fenvir, and took the reigns from the stable-hand standing aside, waiting. He stood with the others as the rest of their companions made their way down to pack their horses, and servants loaded trunks and provisions into one of the two carriages prepared to accompany them. As Eliana talked animatedly to Dorian, Solas turned his attention to Blackwall, who was kicking at a stone lodged in the dirt at his feet.

“You have seen a great deal of battle,” He remarked, off-handedly. Blackwall looked up, seemingly startled at the comment.

“We all have,” the Warden shrugged, looking uncertain.

“Not all, not like you. You live and breathe war,” Solas looked at the man’s deep-set eyes, “You understand it. It is home to you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Blackwall stiffened slightly.

“I intended no offense. We have both seen terrible things,” the Elf lowered his voice slightly, softening it, “We have watched death and destruction render that which we love unrecognizable.”

“Did you fight in a war?” The Warden relaxed slightly, but looked surprised.

“There are struggles across Thedas at any given time,” Solas shrugged passively, “I doubt you would have heard of it.”

“An elven skirmish?” Solas saw Eliana’s eyes flicker towards him, just for an instant.

“…In a manner of speaking,” Solas didn’t let his hesitation last long enough to catch before he changed the focus, “You?”

“I was a soldier. And I... well...” Blackwall grimaced slightly, looking at his feet, “You know how it is.”

“I do indeed,” the Apostate nodded empathetically. Blackwall looked up then, eyeing him inquiringly.

“For all your experience,” The Warden’s voice was amused, “You don't carry yourself like a soldier.”  
  
“You should have seen me when I was younger,” Solas chuckled, “Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight.” Eliana turned to catch his eye, an impish smile at the corner of her lips.

“Oh, youth,” Blackwall gazed off, sighing wistfully, before falling into a sudden coughing fit. As he thumped the Warden hard on the back, Solas looked in the direction his companion had just been watching to see Josephine and Vivienne walking towards them.

_Ah, Lady Montilyet. How endearing._   
  


“So tha’s eve’yone, righ’? Le’z go!” Sera had been standing with Bull, Varric, and Cassandra on the other side of Eliana, and Cole had (of course) appeared without anyone’s notice next to his horse. 

“Darling,” Vivienne called out to Eliana, “Are you certain you wouldn’t prefer the carriage, dear?” The Inquisitor laughed and shook her head with a wide grin.  
  
“And miss the open air?” Eliana nudged Da’assan and slowly moved off towards the main gate, calling over her shoulder, “Not a chance, Viv!”

Solas couldn’t resist the small smile that crept over his face at the eye roll and sigh of the First Enchanter as she pulled the carriage door shut, and the caravan all set off behind their leader.  
  
  
 _Alhasha da’hale._

 

* * *

  
After over two weeks of riding and camping, Eliana was relieved they’d reach Denerim the next day. She didn’t mind the travel so much, but she felt conspicuous with so large a group. They had taken the least amount of soldiers and scouts that Leliana and Cullen would allow (also the most skilled), but they slowed their movement considerably—she was more than ready to get rid of the dead weight. She sat in her tent, stitching a tear Solas had found in his tunic, as he sat next to her and read. He had wasted close to an hour insisting he was more than capable of mending his own clothes, but she needed to busy her hands.  
  
  
“Inquisitor?” Josephine’s fingers grasped the flap of the tent hesitantly, as if she were worried she was interrupting something…. 

“Yes, Josie?” Eliana looked back down to her mending as the Ambassador poked her head in. 

“We have news you will want to read,” Josie’s voice shook slightly, and her face showed her nervousness.

Eliana set aside the tunic slowly, hiding the deep breath she drew as she stood and left the tent, followed closely by Solas. She saw Scout Harding standing with the re-sealed letters in hand, smiling apprehensively.   
  
“They were sent to Skyhold first, then to us,” The Ambassador was nearly unintelligible, she spoke so quickly, “We thought you might like to read them first.”

Eliana took the dispatches from Harding without a word, and opened the first one, skimming the first page.

> _  
> Nightingale—_
> 
> _I have new information regarding Duke Antoine of Wycome's move against the Inquisitor's Dalish clan. It appears that Wycome has been experiencing some sort of plague that affects only humans. The duke has kept news of the disease quiet; as his fellow nobles grow louder in their anger, blaming the elves in the alienage for what has been called the "Knife-Eared Plague," Antoine evidently chose to use Clan Lavellan as a scapegoat. His surreptitious move against the Dalish was an attempt to convince his nobles that he was taking action._
> 
> _—Jester_

  
She skipped to the second page, scanning only a moment before handing it to Josephine over her shoulder.  
  


> _Ambassador Montilyet,_
> 
> _Duke Antoine has been a most charming and gracious host, and has made himself a friend, indeed, to the Inquisition. His city is a wonder, and he was quite keen to display some of the improvements he has made recently. Of particular note are the wells, which use a red crystal to purify the water from which all humans in the city drink. Duke Antoine has not yet made these improvements to the wells from which the elves in the alienage drink.  
> _ _The duke assures me that concerns about some sort of disease affecting his city are wholly overblown, and has quite convinced me that his plans to rid the city of “the rats causing the problem” should be underway quite soon.  
> _ _I continue to enjoy my visit to Wycome, and I confess that I hope I do_ not hear the noisy clatter of the Inquisition’s armored troops ruining my quiet afternoons. The elves of Clan Lavellan, by contrast, are quiet, like their poor cousins here in Wycome’s alienage, and it might be a welcome change to my daily regime to see them in the future.
> 
> _Yours in haste,  
> _ _Lady Guinevere Volant_

  
As soon as Josie had taken the letter from her hands, Eliana tore through the seal of the last missive, her hands shaking slightly. 

> _  
> Commander Cullen—_
> 
> _Our troops made good time to Wycome and entered the valley in force. The Dalish were greatly surprised to see Inquisition soldiers coming to fight on their behalf, but when we broke the line of attacking bandits, the Dalish were quick enough to fight by our side._  
>  _Our combined forces killed most of the bandits and drove the few survivors away. I doubt they will be coming back, though they were indeed well-armed.  
> _ _Duke Antoine of Wycome offered his gratitude for dealing with the bandits and gave the Inquisition his hospitality while we were near his city. He has promised to ensure that no further harm comes to the Dalish while they are near Wycome._
> 
> _—Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre  
>   
> _

She felt her body relax as she exhaled and tilted her head back slightly, closing her eyes. Solas took the letter from her hands and read it with astonishing speed before announcing, fairly loudly, that the Clan was safe for the moment. 

They’re okay. Gal’s okay.  
  


The weight Eliana felt released from her chest….She hadn’t realized she had spent the last few weeks unable to fully breathe. She opened her eyes and looked around, understanding why Solas had spoken so loudly. Her friends had all gathered around, looking as if they had been holding their breath. She felt her eyes well up, but fought back the urge to let the tears fall. 

“They’re okay,” her voice was gravelly and cracked, but she smiled anyway, “Thank you all. So much.”  
  
“Elie,” Josephine was quiet as she placed her hand on the Inquisitor’s arm, “We should discuss what must be done about the Duke—”  
  
“Just…. Just give me until the morning, please,” Eliana barely murmured, leaned to kiss her friends cheek and retreated quickly to her tent.   
  
  
She threw herself on her bedroll and was sobbing before she managed muffle her cries with the nearest cloth, balled up into her face. Her Clan was still in danger, Josephine’s tone had told her as much. But the relief and the stress of the past few months ( _Fenedhis, almost a year now!)_ of the Breach and the Inquisition and just… _everything_. Everything she had kept pent up—ignoring or dealing with day by day, never actually facing the enormity of it all.

   
“ _Da’len_ ,” Solas’s hands were suddenly around her, lifting her. His deep velvet voice was like a warm bath; enveloping and softening the empty void that had been growing in her chest—hidden away but slowly growing—since the death of her mother. 

“ _Halesta,_ ” he moved her onto his lap; her head against his firm chest slowly grounding her as he smoothed her hair, “Ane ir soun. Ane gonathe’or mar numin.”  
  
He leaned back and held her face in both hands, the tip of his nose pressed against her own, and his eyes were wide and the palest grey-blue as they bored into her own, as if reaching down into her soul.

“Y ma _dya rosa,_ ” His soft volume didn’t change, but the insistence in his tone intensified, “Tel'sul em, y, sul mar'lan, Halesta.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and held it—but he shook her tenderly, and she lifted her eyes back to him.

“Do you understand me, Vhenan? You _will_ _endure_ ,” His voice—just for a moment—seemed as if it would break, but he pressed on, “Because you, _ma’ nas,_ are **_everything_**.”  
  


She nodded, and he guided her head back to his chest, still smoothing her hair, whispering lines from _Suledin_ where her hair met her the skin of her face. 

“ _Lath sulevin, lath araval ena, arla ven tu vir mahvir,”_ His voice cloaked her again: a healer’s magic on a gaping wound, _“Melana ‘nehn enasal ir sa lethalin._ ”  
  


He held the world together, in that moment. His voice, the warmth of his skin through his shirt, and his arms around her. It was her last thought that slipped through her lips before she drifted off to sleep.  
 

“Ar lath ma, Solas,” she barely moved her mouth, “Banal ju’hima ra.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On'dhea: Good morning  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Josathe min'vir: Be swift today  
> Alhasha da’hale: Wild little fox   
> Fenedhis: Common curse, lit. Wolf cock  
> Ane ir soun: You are so very strong  
> Ane gonathe’or mar numin: You deserve your tears  
> Y ma dya rosa: But you shall endure  
> Tel'sul em: Not for me   
> Y, sul mar'lan: But, for yourself   
> Ma’ nas: My soul  
> Suledin (Endure): An Elven song  
> Lath sulevin, lath araval ena: Be certain in need, the path will emerge  
> Arla ven tu vir mahvir,: To a home tomorrow,   
> Melana ‘nehn enasal ir sa lethalin: Time will again be the joy it once was  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Banal ju’hima ra: Nothing will change that
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to all of you,  
> and lots of super sugary love...   
> especially my adopted babies  
> (you know who you are!!)  
> <3 xoxoxo


	48. A Chicken in the Foxhouse (or: Denerim)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Saving Clan Lavellan" plans of attack,  
> an awkward greeting in Denerim,  
> and an unsettlingly familiar face.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading  
> and all of your positive feedback!  
> I can't tell you how much it means to me!!

  
Solas woke to find Eliana already up, hearing her voice as she spoke with Josephine near the tent. He laced up his foot-wraps and tugged his tunic on over his shirt as he listened.

“—So this letter _was_ forwarded after it reached Skyhold, and Cullen has already sent out troops?” Eliana didn’t sound distressed, merely weary.  
  
“Yes, Inquisitor,” Josephine’s soft accent gave away a slight nervousness.

“Josie, it’s just us. Please call me Elie. Or at least Eliana. I’m not royalty—” 

“Though, Leliana’s people have been placed on standby, should you change your mind,” the Ambassador continued, a small smile audible in her voice, “And, as you wish, Elie.”  


Solas emerged to find them standing right outside the tent, much closer than he had thought, with only a few scouts and soldiers milling around in the pre-dawn light. Eliana immediately seemed to brighten slightly; she extended her hand out to him, and he grasped it, sliding his fingers through and interweaving them with hers.

Josephine looked ( _rationally, in my opinion)_ surprised, but pleased, by the affectionate gesture. Eliana looked from Solas’s cocked eyebrow to Josie’s wide-eyed attempt to restrain her smile and shrugged lightly, as she handed the letter to Solas.  
  
“It’s not exactly as if it’s a secret, is it?” His Vhenan laughed slightly at the Ambassador’s blush, “What do you think, Hahren? Cullen’s troops?”

 

>  
> 
> _Da'len—_
> 
> _The nobles of Wycome grow more agitated by the day. They clearly blame us and the elves in the alienage for some disease that has stricken the humans of the city, and I have seen their scouts watching our new camp with predators' eyes._
> 
> _Some of the elves of Wycome fled their alienage to warn us. Others fled to escape the harsh treatment they are suffering in the city._
> 
> _I fear violence will come soon, da'len. I ask your help in this matter._
> 
> _Dareth shiral._
> 
> _—Keeper Istimaethoriel Lavellen_
> 
> **_~~~_ **
> 
> _  
> J's diplomat advised against direct force. My scouts could get the Dalish hunters inside the city._
> 
> _—L_  
>                                                               
>  **~~~**
> 
> _J's diplomat also found that the nobles of Wycome are using Red Lyrium. We should send forces to the city to stop this._
> 
> _—C. C.  
>  _

 

“Yes, Red Lyrium will jeopardize all of Wycome,” Solas looked back up and nodded grimly, “I believe Leliana's plan would be best, even at the danger to your Hunters. Discreet action would be most prudent.”

“Their numbers _are_ already low, but the soldiers draw too much attention,” Eliana pursed her lips nervously, looking at Josephine, “And Leliana's Scouts will arrive before us?”

“Considering the ones already there, and the reinforcements from Highever receiving their dispatch by raven, undoubtedly,” The Ambassador nodded firmly, smiling with the renewed sense of hope.

“Alright. If you would be so kind—”

“I’ll send word straightaway to Leliana that you approve, and let Cullen know to keep his troops around your Clan.”

“Thanks, Josie.” Josephine smiled and lightly touched her Inquisitor’s arm before turning back towards her own tent.

Eliana turned to face Solas with a gentle smile, but still looked fatigued. She surprised him by lifting onto her toes and grasping at the collar of his tunic, pulling him down to meet her mouth with his own; a soft, meaningful kiss that she held for a moment, brushing his lips lightly with her own as she pulled back and lowered herself again.  
  
“What have I done to deserve that?” He allowed himself, and her, a small smirk. She smiled at him warmly, and her eyes were lavender crystals, facetted with a range of emotions—love, worry, gratitude, uncertainty. Even a slight glint of mischief.  
  
“I suspect you’ve done more for me than I know,” She teased, a low purr, “But that was just a small sign of good-faith. I intend to repay the rest of what I owe you in full.”

“I shall hold you to that,” He kept his expression playfully solemn, but his eyes must have given him away.

“You can hold me to anything you like,” she winked with a sly smile, and he guided her by their still-interlaced hands towards the nearest re-kindled fire. 

“Samahlas da’hale,” He let out a low chuckle, “Let’s get some tea for you.”

 

* * *

 

King Alistair and Queen Anora had both the Palace guards and The King’s Patrol line the way from the city gates to the Palace. Denerim seemed to be rather overpopulated and, judging from the roads they rode on, dirty. Eliana looked around nervously, eyes flickering out over the crowd that had gathered to watch their arrival, and was grateful for Vivienne, Dorian, and Solas’s combined barriers lowered over her. She saw more than one familiar face, though she didn’t know how she recognized the people they belonged to. Josephine had promised her a visit to the Alienage upon her return from Wycome, but from the expressions of the few Elves in the crowd, she wasn’t sure how welcome she would be. When they finally approached the Palace, the road turned from dirt to cobblestones, and the crowd thinned out almost to disappearance.

She had done as suggested and wore her scarf over her hair and most of her face, not providing anyone with too clear a view of her face. Leliana had asked one of the Elven Circle Mages they had recruited to remain in Denerim with Josephine, Vivienne, and Blackwall, and pose as the Inquisitor while Eliana was gone, so the poor girl was currently hidden away in the carriage with Josie and Viv. They finally reached the Palace Gates, the King and Queen, were waiting in front of the large doors of the entrance with (what appeared to be) the entire Court and their servants. A herald announced them as they moved into the courtyard.  
  
“Their Majesties, King Alistair and Queen Anora Theirin of Ferelden, most graciously offer their welcome, hospitality, and protection to Lady Inquisitor Eliana Lavellan; Lady Ambassador Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva; Madame De Fer, First Enchanter Vivienne of Montsimmard and Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais; as well as all accompanying members of the Inquisition.” 

Eliana dismounted first as a court servant took Da’assan’s reigns. She waited for Josephine and Vivienne to emerge from the carriage with the elven girl, who moved back to stand with the rest of the guards and scouts she had been dressed to look like. When they neared and the rest of her party had dismounted and gathered behind her, she approached Alistair and Anora; remaining at the distance dictated by etiquette and bowing deeply.  


Anora immediately glided forward and embraced her, startling Eliana and most of her party, though no one moved.  
  
“Inquisitor, it is so lovely to see you again!” The Queen had a pleasant and calm voice, though as soon as she had her face near Eliana’s ear, her voice was a gentle whisper, “Say nothing of your plan until later, when we’re alone.”

“Your Majesty, the pleasure is entirely mine. You have my deepest gratitude for your invitation to stay under your roof so I may visit the Birth Stone of our Most Holy Andraste,” Eliana swept into a curtsey this time, nodding slightly in understanding.  
  
“You are familiar, I believe, with Lady Montilyet and First Enchanter Vivienne?” She gestured to her friends, who were towering behind her at either shoulder.

The King and Queen greeted them warmly, and Josephine went on to introduce the rest of her companions: Cassandra, Dorian, Blackwall, Bull, Sera, and even introducing Solas as Eliana’s “closest friend and advisor”. Varric, of course, required no introduction, and greeted the King as an old friend. Cole had seemingly decided not to be seen, so he remained unmentioned.

“I apologize, Inquisitor, that our last meeting was so…unpleasant. I hope we are able to make it up to you during your stay. Let our servants show you to your rooms, and before dinner, you will join Anora and I for tea, to speak privately.”  
  
Alistair gave Eliana a warm smile and gentle handshake, clasping her hand with both of his own, which she returned in kind; thanking him again before he, Anora, and the rest of the Court returned inside. Josephine and Solas appeared at either side of her when the Head servant appeared, bowing, to lead them to their rooms. 

“Inquisitor,” Josephine’s tone was audible, though barely above a whisper, “I’ve arranged for your rooms to be adjoined to Solas and Dorian’s, and across from Sir Blackwall’s. Even amongst friends, one can never be too safe. I should also introduce you to Leena, your double, before your audience with Their Majesties.”

 

Eliana nodded once, but didn’t respond as the Head servant was not too far ahead of them. They were led up a wide stone staircase ( _not nearly as gaudy as the Winter Palace)_ to the Guest Wing, passing the Library, a small, enclosed courtyard, and the Guest Chapel. After she was shown her rooms and several servants brought in her trunks, she changed out of her dusty riding clothes and laid out the attire Josephine had chosen for her on the bed. She stood at the washstand in her smalls and breast-band, washing her face with a cloth hung next to the pitcher and basin, when she heard a knock at one of the side doors. 

“Come in,” she muttered, wiping the dust from her eyelashes.  


“Da’len, you did not even inquire as to who it was,” She opened her eyes to see Solas, looking disproving.

“You are not dressed; and with a cloth over your eyes, you can hardly be considered on your guard,” Even while chiding her, his eyes freely looked her up and down, though his expression was blank.

“Don’t be silly, Hahren. I have two daggers on me, the door is from one of the rooms attached to mine, so it had to be either you or Dorian,” she smiled, shifting her weight onto one foot, “And the scent each of you have makes all the difference in identifying who is near, even through a damp cloth.”

Solas looked slightly concerned for a moment, before changing his expression to one of dubiousness.

“Scent? What are you, a hound?” He pursed his lips.

“No, I didn’t mean you smell unpleasant. Quite the opposite, actually. But Dorian smells more of spices and wine, and somehow slightly like berries,” Elie tilted her head and pouted a lip, musingly.

“And I smell like…?” Solas lead, no doubt expecting an _unwashed apostate hobo_ joke.

“Royal Elfroot, soil, and books. Very pleasant.” She turned back to the basin and covered her face with the cloth again in an attempt to hide the blush rising in her cheeks. 

“Hm. Thank you,” Solas finally responded, a smirk in his voice; she remained turned away from him, quickly wiping the cloth over her neck, chest, and hands.  
 

She was abruptly aware that he was standing very close, feeling his body heat on her back. He took the cloth from her, and lifted the hair off of her neck, easily dabbing at the back of her neck and between her shoulder blades before planting a gentle kiss at the base of her ear. He then bit her shoulder hard, chuckling at her squeal, before setting the cloth back on the rack of the stand. She turned towards him, moving straight into a deep, hungry kiss—his hands skimming down her sides before coming to a rest on her hips. She nearly let out a moan, but—  


“You two will have to wait until later for all that,” Dorian had marched through the door to other connected rooms, smirking but not breaking his stride as Solas smiled to himself and took a step back.

  
“What are you are you waiting for?” Dorian gestured to Eliana’s obvious lack of attire, “Come on, Elie-love. Clothes on.”  
  
She huffed and walked over the bed, hopping into the leggings while Dorian and Solas tried to hide their snickers and she shot them a look. Tugging on the unusually snug tunic with gold embroidery and a confused look, she raised an eyebrow to her two men as they stood there, appraising her.

“Well? What?”

“You look lovely, da’len,” Solas remained expressionless, a simple nod.

“Oh, yes, if you want to understate it,” Dorian pursed his lips and rolled his eyes at the Apostate, before turning Eliana to face away from him as he began fashioning her hair, “You look utterly _inciting_ , my peach.”

“Wh—Is that appropriate for a Royal Audience?” Eliana began to look over her shoulder, concerned, but Dorian grasped the sides of her head and turned it straight ahead again.

“Hold still,” Dorian nagged, “I am sure Josie wouldn’t have you wearing anything unsuitable, Elie.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right,” Eliana agreed, but her face creased in thought and she had a very overwhelming feeling of nervousness.

“Are you alright, Vhenan?” Solas had apparently noticed the look on her face; his own brow furrowed with concern.

“Hm? Y—Yes, of course,” She straightened her spine and lifted her chin—only to have Dorian pull her back into him by her shoulders, kissing her cheek roughly. 

“Good! Then, off with you!” The smile in his voice was smug and distracted, and Josephine was knocking and dragging her out of the door before Eliana had time to think.

 

A very jittery Josephine—who, for the first time that Eliana could remember—was silent as she dragged Elie through twisting, dark stone hallways. They wound their way up an even gloomier, and very narrow, spiral staircase to a heavy wooden door. Josie rapped twice, sharply on the door, and it swung open to reveal King Alistair gesturing for them to enter. The room was smaller than Eliana would’ve expected, but round and cozy; the only break in the full bookshelves was a stone mantel over a roaring fire, and framed by a pair of wingback chairs on either side. Queen Anora was already seated in one, and she immediately rose, seeming to glide over to them.  


“Inquisitor, Lady Ambassador. Please, come and sit,” The woman was as lovely as she was fair: blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin over sharp features, and roughed cheeks. She was tall, slim, and rather commanding—her voice and the faint parentheses around her mouth were the only hint that she was anywhere yet near middle-aged. For such a strong woman, she was surprisingly soft-spoken.

“We should be able to talk here without much concern,” the Queen led them over to the chairs, not bothering with bows and curtsies and nods, “Just mind the volume of your voice.”  
  
Alistair handed them each a tea cup before sitting next to his wife, folding his hands neatly and resting his elbows on the arms of the chair.  
  
“Sister Leliana sent one of her best scouts ahead to ask if we would mind hosting your ‘visit’, and briefly the details of your plan,” Alistair wasted no time on pretense, settling comfortably into his seat.

“Yes, the Inquisitor, well—”

“Gal—Galifalon, my younger brother, my only family,” Eliana wasn’t worried about tiptoeing around the subject; Anora was widely known as a just and compassionate woman, “His binding, ahem, marriage ceremony. He has asked me to attend. I haven’t seen him in two years, and we’ve just learned that the Venatori are implicating my Clan in Wycome, resulting in their certain attack.”

“So, in order to safely slip into the Free Marches,” Anora smiled slightly, nodding, “You need to _publicly_ be somewhere else.”

“And Denerim is an excellent place for the Herald of Andraste to be seen, what with the Birth Rock and all,” Alistair chuckled lightly, and Eliana could picture him and Varric, younger and laughing upon the famed _Siren’s Call_ …though she knew it was no doubt a less-than-accurate depiction.  
  
“Precisely,” Josephine nodded, her smile appearing a bit nervous, “Not to impose or misuse Your Majesties, of course.”

Anora and Alistair shared a silent, seemingly pleasant look.  
  
  
                  _Ever the diplomat, our Josie…._  


“Lady Montilyet, you needn’t be so uneasy,” Anora smiled warmly, “Inquisitor—”

“Please, call me Eliana, or Elie,” She raised her hands in apology, flinching slightly, realizing she had just interrupted a _Queen_ , “I really don’t think I’ll ever get used to the title.”

“Well, _Elie_ ,” Anora surprised the Elven woman for the second time since they had met at Redcliffe by leaning forward and clasping Eliana’s hands in her own, “It is no misuse or imposition. The Inquisition is doing more for Thedas than anyone else has even bothered. I have but one question.”  
  
The Queen released her and leaned back into her chair, glancing at Alistair.

“Have you brought a stand-in?” The King asked with a mischievous smile.

“Yes, speaking of which,” Josephine stood, and walked to the door, opening it just after two quick knocks were heard.

 

Eliana recognized one of Leliana’s best Scouts, saluting Josie before turning around, leaving the Circle Mage who had been recruited as decoy.

“Your Majesties, Inquisitor,” Josephine gestured to the bare-faced Elf woman as she curtsied deeply, “May I introduce Enchanter Silea?”

Anora stood smoothly and nodded to the woman before circling her, studying the Elf silently. Silea looked calm, though she was understandably wide-eyed. Eliana felt the resemblance was as close as any pale Elven woman could be to another. She knew the Enchanter was probably more attractive than herself: bright blue eyes, taller, thinner, no scars, and rosier cheeks. 

“She’s a bit taller, and her hair is more gold than the Inquisitor’s,” the Queen’s voice was kind in her scrutiny, “But what of the Blood Writing?”  
  
“I actually will be painting it on her each day,” Josie smiled tautly, glancing timidly at Eliana, “I’ve been practicing the shape. It should work fine as long as we keep Enchanter Silea a safe distance away from anyone who might pay close enough notice.”  
  
“I have faith in you, Josephine,” Eliana smiled reassuringly, though she didn’t quite feel so sure, “…Lady Enchanter, are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”  
  
“After Fiona tried to sell us into slavery?” Silea’s voice was surprisingly confident, “It’s an honor to do this for you, Inquisitor.”  
  
Eliana met the woman’s eyes and thanked her, smiling to mask the sudden overwhelming panic at the realization that she recognized this Elf woman.  


_One of the Wolf’s Little Birds._

                 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dareth shiral: Safe Journey, a farewell.  
> Samahlas da’hale: Silly/funny little fox  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da’len: Little One
> 
>  
> 
> My infinite love to all my darling, supportive,  
> AMAZING friends and readers!!  
> I can't thank you enough. <3 xoxoxo


	49. Fen'Harel Enansal: Blessings of the Dread Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner and some smut ;D  
> Oh, and orders from The Big Wolf himself...
> 
>  
> 
> I hope the tiny little smut-ette  
> is pleasant. Trying to go ahead   
> and move on to Wycome!!
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you eternally for reading!!  
> You are all my angelic little darlings!  
> Muah! <3 <3

  
Eliana had seemed slightly edgy since returning from her audience. Solas wondered if she had disliked Silea. Maybe she had felt insulted by the choice of her look-alike, but he was far from interested in asking. A large table had been brought into her room, and Eliana paced around it wordlessly as he watched her. 

“Something the matter, da’len?” He was leaning against the door frame to his own room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Hm?” She glanced up, and stopped her pacing, “Oh, just nerves. I’m ready to go already.”   
  
  
He knew it was partially true, but was hardly why she was pacing around like a caged red lion. He heard the knock at the door to Dorian’s room and moved forward to the table. Dorian came in without waiting for an answer, followed by Cassandra, Bull, Sera, and Varric. 

“Then here, sit.” Solas pulled out a chair for her, helping her push it back under the table after she sat, and taking a seat next to her.  
  


“So, we’re no’ eatin’ with their Royalnesses?” Sera spun her chair around as she plopped into it, sitting with her hands on the backrest.

“No, I told you,” Cass rolled her eyes and sat in the chair on Eliana’s other side, “Josephine, Lady Vivienne, and Warden Blackwall as dining with them. We are eating here, getting some sleep, and then going down to the docks before sunrise.”

“I’m still waiting for someone to explain to me what the hell we’re doing,” Bull complained, eyeing his small chair before sitting awkwardly, doubtful of its ability to hold his weight.

“Soon, _Amatus_. It’s not as if you’re in any danger,” Dorian patted the giant arm at his side, rolling his eyes. Solas glanced at Eliana to see her grinning at the Qunari, her face both amused and apologetic.

“Ha! Yeah, cause you’d tell him if he was,” Varric laughed as there was a knock on the door, and the Head servant was followed in by two Elven servers, “Ah, dinner!”

They set down their trays on a sideboard before moving to set individual plates and goblets in front of each person. The Head servant walked around, filling each chalice with wine. The two other servants left momentarily, returning quickly with more trays that they set in the center of the table; removing the lids to display piles of food. Solas watched as Eliana sipped mildly at her wine, but did not move forward to serve herself anything.

“Vhenan, you must eat,” he kept his voice low, and tried his best not to sound like a scolding parent. She just nodded slightly: giving him a sweet, though weary, expression and then gathered a small pile of vegetables onto her plate. 

“Did I ever tell you about the time Alistair, Isabela, and I went to that Ball in Qarinus trying to find that Magister…what was his name? Aurelian Titus!” The servants had seen themselves out, and Varric was already serving himself a second glass of wine.  
  


Solas watched Eliana throughout dinner. She smiled a lot, laughed occasionally, but appeared more and more exhausted as the night drew on. She didn’t appear to notice him watching her—pushing her vegetables around her plate, nibbling on a roll, and downing three glasses of wine—but he knew better than to think she hadn’t noticed. Finally, though, she turned to meet his gaze.

“Hahren, I’m exhausted. Do you mind if I go lie down in your room?” There was no inference on her face, just fatigue and stress as she stood.

“Ma nuvenin, da’len,” he moved to stand, but she waved her hand, gesturing for him to remain sitting.

“No, no,” she smiled weakly at everyone, “I’ll see you all in a few hours. I just need some rest.” 

He turned to watch her grab her rucksack and slip into his room, meeting his eyes briefly before closing the door behind her.  
  


“Poor Foxlette, under so much stress,” Varric murmured at his elbow, and Solas looked at the Dwarf blankly, but Varric gave him a wink and a small smile.

“Yah, righ’? Needs some’un ta _work it outta_ ‘er,” Sera quietly muttered into her cup as she grinned wickedly at Solas.  
  
No one else said anything about it, and Varric finally finished his story (after branching off several times into other small tales) as they gathered the trays, plates, and chalices, and piled them neatly back onto the sideboards. The group said their “goodnights” and shuffled out of the room.

“See that the Inquisitor wakes rested, won’t you, Solas?” Cassandra barely hid her smirk as she passed through the door, followed by Bull. 

“Yes, Solas, be a lamb?” Dorian tossed a wink over his shoulder as he brought up the rear, closing the door behind him. Solas chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head, as he turned to enter his own room.

 

* * *

 

 

Her eyes opened when she heard the door close; Solas was still standing next to it, his hand still on the doorknob. The room was as dim as she had left it: sconces extinguished and the fireplace was the only remaining source of light. He didn’t look so predatory in this light. In fact, he appeared rather concerned as he approached the bed.

“How long have I been out?” She sat up, rubbing at her eyes and yawning slightly.

“No more than an hour, at most. Are you ill?” He sat next to her on the bed, placing a cool palm against her forehead. An unintended sigh of approval slipped through her lips as she closed her eyes.

“No, Hahren. Just very tired. Your hands are cold.”

“And your skin is hot, da’len. I’m going to draw a bath for you,” He stood up, and moved over to the large metal tub in the far corner of the room; pouring in the buckets of water resting nearby without heating them first.   
  
She remained sitting up in his bed as she stripped the clothes off of herself, finding them damp with sweat. Though the rooms they had been given had no windows (which, she had been assured, was for her privacy and safety), they were damp and cold despite the fireplaces.  
  


            _Maybe I_ **am** _sick. Fenedhis! Not now!_  
  


Solas scooped her up, and carried her to the tub: lowering her slowly and gently into the barely-warm water. She could smell the rose, lilac and cedar oil he must have added to the tub.

“How did you make it smell like my bath oil?” She had already closed her eyes, resting her hands along the sides. When he spoke, she found herself unaffected by his nearness.

“There was a small vial in your rucksack,” He answered plainly, dipping a cloth in the water before lifting and gently moving it over the skin of her clavicle.   
  
“Do you often go through my things?” Her tone was teasing, but she felt an edginess threatening to climb into her voice.

“As a rule, no. Your privacy is your own.” She opened her eyes to see his blank expression, though the corner of his lips twitched slightly in irritation. 

“Ir abelas, Hahren,” She allowed him to sit her up, closing her eyes again as he continued to bathe her back, “I am grateful for the gesture.”  
 

He leaned down to kiss her shoulder, and she shivered at the unexpected contact. She turned her head and raised her eyes to his face, and found the hunger in his tempest gaze causing her tremble slightly—But she was already pulling him by his collar into the tub with her, his mouth on hers as she felt the weight of his drenched, clothed body settle on top of her own. There was water splashing everywhere, and she was nearly tearing at his shirt. He removed it the rest of the way, tossing it haphazardly over his shoulder, before sliding his hand up her thigh; cupping her sex just long enough for her to grind against his hand before slipping his fingers inside. The pent-up frustration of the _weeks_ without _this_ …without _him_ , it all melted away.   
  
She must have been quite loud, because his opposite hand was over her mouth then, but he didn’t stop his fingers’ thrust and curling under the sloshing water. She determinedly found and fought with the laces of his breaches as he knelt between her thighs; but she was unable to finish loosening them before she was overwhelmed with the first wave of ecstasy and his mouth covered her own, swallowing her every mewl. His weight and the firm hand at the back of her neck were the only things holding her thrashing body still as her cunt clenched around his fingers; drawing a deep growl from him as he lifted her, her dripping body still in spasms.  
  
He somehow managed to wrap a towel around her before tossing her roughly onto the bed and peeling off the remainder of his own soaking clothes. She had barely had time to catch her breath or fully recover before he had buried himself fully in her—causing her vision momentarily to become a sun-burst of white pain—though, the pleasure returned with even more zeal. He was moaning her name into her mouth; she was breathing his in return past the flesh of his shoulder clenched in her teeth. She was only aware of these moments in flashes, fleeting snapshots between the smell of his skin and the taste of his mouth, and the overwhelming breaks rolling over her as she quickly approached the peak of her orgasm. He fell into her with one final sigh, and then rolled them over smoothly, so she was lying on his chest.

“Ma serannas, ma' lath,” Eliana managed to breathe through the pounding of her heart against her chest.

“Shh. _Era mala, Vhenan_ ,” The feeling of his lips moving against her hair made her chest swell, and she was abruptly aware that she was quickly falling asleep, as the cool and distinct sensation of Solas’s healing magic moved through her body.

 

When Eliana woke a few hours later, she found that she had been re-bathed and dressed in Solas’s tunic, as he lay next to her, asleep. His soaked clothes had been laid out in front of the hearth to dry, though he had slipped on a spare pair of breeches before climbing into bed beside her. Elie found herself smiling at him, running her thumb softly across his creased brow. She slid off the bed as quietly as possible, moving over to her rucksack and tugging on a pair of leggings. Just as she got them laced, there was a knock at the door; she cracked it open, only to have Cassandra push past her into the room, followed by Varric, who gave her an up-and-down glance with a smirk. 

“Inquisitor, good morning—Solas, wake up,” Cass threw a nearby damp washcloth at the sleeping Apostate, “We leave in a quarter of a hour.”

Cassandra noticed Solas’s tunic, and met Elie’s eyes with the tiniest flare of her nostrils and a repressed smile, blushing.

“Wl'll meet in _your_ rooms, Foxlette,” Varric winked as he dragged the Lady Seeker from the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
  


* * *

 

  
Bull had been the last to walk up the gangplank, but Solas had already followed Eliana to the foredeck. Even on an “Inquisition” ship, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight. She was leaning on the balustrade, a black scarf covering her hair and shrouding her face.

“I know you’re standing back there, keeping an eye on me, Solas,” she hadn’t turned around or called out, but her voice was clear as a bell. He moved so stand next to her.

“You have been on a ship before, I assume?” He clasped his hands behind his back and kept his tone low, the fading moonlight glimmering off the water and in her lavender eyes was a sight he had never the opportunity to appreciate before.

“Yes, back before I was a Herald or Inquisitor,” She smiled a small smile to herself, “That feels like a lifetime ago.”

“It was, in a way.” He thought about how her life could have been different, if not for him.

“It wasn’t this small,” She almost started him after a long pause, and he raised a brow at her quizzically, “The last ship, I mean.”

“It is meant to be small and fast,” He said it, even though he knew she had undoubtedly guessed as much, “It should, with any luck, get us to Wycombe in four days.”

“Poor Dorian,” She laughed unexpectedly, “He hates sailing. He’ll be sick the whole time. I’m glad I was sure to bring some Spindleweed and Blood Lotus. Makes for terrible tea, but it helps with the nausea.” 

Solas could see Cassandra approaching; walking in that fast way she had when she was in “protective mother-hen” mode. The faintest light, probably only visible to Elven eyes, was starting to hint at dawn over the Drakon River. 

“Inquisi—I mean, Elie,” The Lady Seeker struggled, “You should probably spend some time below deck for awhile. I believe Dorian was requesting your assistance.”

Cassandra, as well as the rest of them, had been instructed sternly not to call Eliana by her full name or Title for this portion of the trip, just in case of unfriendly ears.

_That should be amusing to see._    
  
Eliana looked at him and smiled with a half-shrug as Cassandra dragged her away.  
  
  
He would follow in a moment. He stood at the railing for a while longer until someone appeared next to him; a small and lithe male Elf, a few years older than Elie herself, but with a wind-burned face and a scowl. 

“ _Ar melana dirthavaren. Revas vir’anaris._ ” The Elf man did not look at Solas as he spoke, and barely moved his head.

“Asha rajelan rya’ea amem. Ghi'mya son **.** _Fen'Harel enansal_.” 

“Mm.” The man hummed his understanding and walked away, leaving Solas to look out over the river, to the now-visibly rising sun, fighting with his own mind.  
  


_She is still necessary. She cannot come to harm until I have the Orb._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen:  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Fenedhis: Common curse, lit. Wolf cock  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Ma' lath: My love  
> Era mala: Sleep/dream now  
> Asha rajelan rya’ea amem: The woman leader must be kept/protected  
> Ghi'mya son: Hunt well/carefully   
> Fen'Harel enansal: Blessing of the Dread Wolf  
> *Ar melana dirthavaren. Revas vir’anaris: Fen'Harel's secret greeting, meaning _may_ be something like: “My time promised. Freedom pathway forever.”
> 
> Tevene:  
> Amatus: My love
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!!  
> My love to all of my little babies!! <3 xoxox


	50. You Will See...We Hope.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ship makes landfall,  
> and Cole helps Solas  
> understand Elie's  
> behavior a bit better.
> 
> Sorry it's so short and boring, but I felt  
> we needed a little band-aid chapter.  
> It's about to get better soon, I promise!!
> 
> Thank you infinitely for staying with me!!  
> Every chapter read and comment/kudos left  
> makes my whole day. You are all angels!!  
> MUAH! <3<3

   
Eliana had spent most of the sea voyage taking care of Dorian, below deck. She had him moved to her quarters, and was forcing Spindleweed tea and dried Blood Lotus on him, though the taste of the tea alone made him gag.

“With such dark skin, my love, I would have never imagined you could look so green around the gills,” She teased, lying next to him in her bed, smoothing his hair affectionately and dabbing at his face with a cool, damp cloth.  
  
“If you weren’t so darling, I’d hate you right now,” Dorian’s voice sounded weary and faint, but he placed his hand on her glowing free hand and squeezed.

“Have you seen the Halla?” She handed her friend a glass of water, trying her best to distract her friend from his seasickness, “The gift we’re giving to Gal for his bonding?”

“Yes, is it common for them to have that sheen to them?” Dorian took a sip of water and wrinkled his nose, “Even the Dalish know how to make marriage sound like slavery. _‘Bonding’._ ”

“No, Golden Halla are extremely rare, which is why Taralani should be more than pleased. She’s due to be the next Halla'amelan,” She took the glass back from him, pursing her lips with disapproval, “The actual word for the rite is _da'lav'hasal,_ which means ‘hand-fasting’.”

“Honestly, my pear, that doesn’t sound much better,” Dorian managed a chuckle at Elie’s eye-roll, “And what in the name of Andraste is a ‘halla-am-len’?”

“A Halla Keeper. It’s a respected roll in Dalish culture,” She held up a hand at his cocked brow, “I know, I know. We’re such simple barbarians. I get it enough from Solas.”

“Oh, my dearest, you know I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” it was Dorian’s turn to purse his lips, “But I thought this girl was the leader’s daughter?”

“She is,” Eliana looked down at the hand smoothing her friend’s hair, “Her older brother is the First. She is not magically inclined.”

“Ah, I see. How much longer are we on this ship?” Dorian groaned, understandably irritable, “It’s been a week, at least.”

“We land at port in a few hours, and then we’re making camp,” She cooed, soothingly, smiling as Bull awkwardly made his way through the small door—trying not to catch his horns on the frame—while carrying a bowl of soup.

“Eat, you’ll feel better,” Elie instructed, kissing his forehead and winking at Bull as she climbed off of the bed.

“That seems doubtful,” Dorian muttered, and she laughed to herself as she left the room, heading for the stairs to the deck.

 

Varric was the only recognizable person visible in the thick fog. He was sitting on a barrel with a flagon full of Creators-know-what, talking to one of the few sailors whose face she hadn’t yet committed to memory.

“Little Bit! How’s Sparkler doing?” He wasn’t drunk exactly, but the dwarf was a little wobbly.

“He’s ready to be on dry land,” She smiled and nodded to the man standing next to Varric, “How do you do?”

The sailor was a fairly young City Elf—only a few hairs taller than she, but all ropey muscle. His face was wind-burnt and he was scowling, though not at anyone in particular, as he gave her a slight bow. He had dark, wavy hair that came just past his jaw, and covered one of his amber eyes. Eliana found herself put off by the bow he gave her….

“Little Bit, this is Soufeis,” Varric gestured to the sailor, “I invited him to the game of Wicked Grace I thought we might have at the camp tonight, but he says he’s not leaving the ship.”  
  
“Oh, well I’m sure he’s just very attached to his wages,” Elie smiled, looking back towards the Elf, who was glancing just past her shoulder.

“S’cuse me,” He nodded, and walked away quickly, just as Solas appeared by her shoulder.  
 

“Creators, Solas, what did you do to that boy?” She teased, but she knew her body was tense; the sailor’s behavior at the sight of the Apostate seemed only to confirm what she was already almost sure of.

“What boy?” Her Vhenan’s expression was blank, but he didn’t even leave her a pause to answer before continuing, “How fares Dorian?” 

            _Ah, very smooth. Change the subject, Wolf._

“Much the same as before,” she shrugged, and he gently leaned down to press his lips to her forehead.

“Hey Chuckles,” Varric had been watching over the rim of his flagon, “Do you ever play Wicked Grace?”

“I'm not much of a gambler anymore,” Solas’s expression didn’t change, but something about his eyes hinted at amusement.

“You don't have to play for real coin,” Varric flapped his hand, almost losing his balance, “That's just for keeping score.” Eliana cocked an eyebrow at the dwarf, receiving a stealthy wink, and realizing he was mostly putting on a show.

“What do you play for?” Solas raised an eyebrow of his own, seeming not to notice the exchange between his two companions.

“Conversation, mostly,” Varric belched as he shrugged, “That way I win no matter how the cards fall.”

“Mm, I believe I must decline the invitation,” Solas’s mouth was halfway between pursed and smirking.

“Oh, are you afraid to lose?” Elie couldn’t help but poke the Wolf, fluttering her eyelashes innocently, feigning shock. 

“Terrified,” He just looked down his nose at her, blinking slowly in that was that made Eliana want to hurt him…and kiss him.

“You know what I like about you, Chuckles?” Varric interrupted their staring contest, and Solas quirked a brow in anticipation, “Your boundless optimism.”

“It's comforting that whatever qualities I lack, you'll invent for me, Varric,” Solas rolled his eyes, but a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“No, really,” Varric leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, steadying his swaying slightly, “Why else would an elven apostate help crazy Chantry folk close a hole in the sky?” Solas stuck out his bottom lip for a fleeting second in consideration.

“When you put it like that, I must concede your point,” He smiled at the dwarf, and then at Eliana. 

“Seriously, though. Wicked Grace at camp tonight,” Varric hopped off the barrel and stumbled a bit before righting himself, “I expect to you both of you there.” He pointed at them sternly for a moment, and then turned on his heel: lurching off towards the cabin.  
 

“Da’len,” She had been watching Varric, but her attention was recaptured at the sound of Solas’s voice, “You seem…tense. Anything you would like to talk about?”  
   
She glanced up at him, frustrated but determinedly maintaining her composure. There were endless accusations she would like to throw at him, endless questions for him to answer. And he had been so _suspiciously_ sweet since they had left Skyhold. It was becoming more than disquieting.

“I’m fine, Hahren. Really,” She smiled, but didn’t bother making an effort at convincing him, “I’ll just be glad when I am sure my brother is safe."

“La’ma dirtha, Vhenan,” He held her gaze, though; staring into her eyes as if he were looking right into her. His eyes were the most hypnotizing slate, for a moment she forgot to be wary of him—but then her brain refocused, and she dropped her eyes, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. 

“Ir abelas, ma’ nas,” Eliana turned on her heel, suddenly very anxious, and headed back down the stairs, “I told Dorian I’d only be gone a moment.”  
 

            _Fendhis…._

 

* * *

 

Eliana’s unsettled behavior had bothered him. Did she think he’d throw her overboard? Perhaps he had been _too_ nice. He decided to give her time: allow her to come to him, as it were. He helped the others carry the provisions off the ship: watching as Elie first led Dorian down the gangplank, and then returned to help the Scout struggling to lead the Halla off the ship.  
  
Cole guided each of their horses down, with the exception of Da’assan, whom had been left in Denerim to better protect Silea’s cover. They were planning on riding a couple miles inland before making camp, hoping to find some tree cover. They loaded the goods onto their mounts while Eliana cooed comfortingly to the Halla fawn, which was too young and weak to ride. Eliana was without a horse, and would have to ride with someone else.  
 

“She thinks you are going to harm Galifalon,” Cole spoke quietly to Solas as they packed the horses, “Or her Clan. That you will hold them responsible, though they don’t know what she knows.”  
  
“Is that why she has been behaving so, ah, skittish?” Solas had turned sharply, but managed to control the volume of his voice, keeping it low.

“Hm,” The Spirit tilted his chin slightly, as if listening to something far away, “Yes, but also…you have been ‘too warm’?” Cole looked confused by this, appearing to listen again. 

“She likes it, but…it makes her nervous,” The Spirit looked to Solas, his brow furrowed slightly, but was contented when he understood that the Apostate seemed to realize what he meant.

“Thank you, Cole. She is not in any danger from me,” Solas sighed quietly, “Not for some time, at least.” He pursed his lips, angry with himself for the pain in his chest, the heartache and guilt of the thought.  
 

“You love her. ‘ _Ar lath ma, Halesta.’_ Your _Vhenan_ ,” Cole voice and expression were even and confident, as if he had just remarked that the sea was salty.

“Yes.”

_More than I believed possible._

“You are determined. But she is determined, too. You will see.” Cole gave him a smile—a rare action since his donning the amulet—and disappeared in a swirl of green mist.

 Solas watched as Cole reappeared next to Elie, kneeling down to murmur in her ear while petting the Halla, appearing to calm the animal significantly. Solas turned back to Fenvir; tying his rucksack to the saddlebags, adjusting the Charger’s harness and bit, and lifting one hoof at a time, checking the stallion’s shoes.

“Hahren?” Eliana’s voice behind him startled him, but he didn’t allow it to show as he straightened up and turned to face her.

“Yes, da’len?” She had piled her hair up on the top of her head, and was now tugging nervously at a loose strand by her ear, looking from him to her feet and back.

“Would you mind if I rode with you?” Her voice was quiet and almost apologetic, and one corner of her lips—flushed and slightly swollen from where she had been anxiously chewing on them—was pulled tight, showing a single faint dimple. Solas hid his smile, nodding instead. 

“Ma nuvenin,” He mounted Fenvir and waited as she slung herself up into the saddle in front of him.

“Thank you, Vhenan,” She whispered, tilting her head back and kissing the underside of his jaw with an intimate pressure.  


_“You are determined. But she is determined, too.”  
            I will see.... I hope I will see._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halla'amelan: Halla Keeper  
> Da'lav'hasal: handfasting, an elvhen marriage rite where the partners' hands are tied together  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> La’ma dirtha: As you say  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, My apologies  
> Ma’ nas: My heart, My soul  
> Fendhis: Common curse (lit. Wolf cock)  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish
> 
>  
> 
> I love you all so much!!  
> Thank you for reading! <3 xoxox


	51. Clan Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Clan Lavellan  
> and a few extras...
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this one is short too,  
> but since I was getting into the Name thing,  
> I wanted to be able to have the note in there,  
> and not have to scroll a million years down to the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading!! <3 <3 <3  
> You are all my little angels!! Muah! xoxox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **[FenxShiral's Stance on Dalish Naming Conventions:](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4401050/chapters/9994241) **
> 
> **_The Patronymic: Dalish are named with patronymics, similar to Russian names, except there is no suffix added to their patronymic._ **
> 
> **_ Halesta (Eliana) La’aenoreaan Lavellan _ **  
>  _Halesta: Lit. “Thread of the Fox”_  
>  _Eliana: Lit. “Our Conclusion”_  
>  _La’aenoreaan: Lit. “Like the Birds of Prey”_
> 
> _**A Dalish is given three names: Their personal name, patronymic, and clan name.** _
> 
> _**Personal Name, or Soul Name (Sal’melin):** This is the personal name of the Dalish. What we might consider to be their true name. The name that identifies them.  _
> 
> _**Patronymic, or Parent Name (Linal’melin):** This is the name of the same-gender parent of the Dalish. For example, if the Dalish is female, this will be their mother’s name. If the Dalish is male, this will be their father’s name. Unlike Russian names, this name would be added without any added suffixes. The ‘son of’ or ‘daughter of’ would simply be implied. _
> 
> _**Clan Name (lethal’melin):** This is the clan name of the Dalish. It is the name of the clan that the Dalish was born to, not the clan that they grow up and end up living with. Dalish have the option of adding their new clan if they wish. For example, someone like Merrill, who was traded to the Sabrae clan from the Alerion clan, could very well have two clan names._
> 
>  

  
They had given Wycome a wide berth, for obvious reasons, and the closer they came to her Clan, the more Eliana found herself doling out orders to her friends.  
  
“Sera, just…” She looked at the not-so-elfy-elf, pained, “Try not to talk to anyone. Or shoot them. And Bull—”

The Qunari looked over at her, lips pursed and eyebrow raised, waiting for some critique.

 “Actually, you should be fine. Just don’t tell your people where my family is, okay?” She looked pleadingly, eyes wide and gently nudging her elbow into Solas’s ribs as he chuckled behind her. Bull nodded with a laugh.  
  
“And **_you_** _,_ ma’ Vhenan—” She turned to Solas in the saddle, but he cut her off with a kiss to the top of her head, and a firm, comprehending voice; as if he were finishing off a sentence he had read from a book a thousand times.  


“I shall refrain from being ‘all smarter-than-thou’, I will not take offense when it is given, I will offer my opinion only when it is asked for, and I will be as nice as I am physically capable. Yes, Inquisitor.”

  
She saw Dorian’s look as she huffed and he smirked over his shoulder at her, and even managed to catch a glimpse of Cassandra’s smiled as the Seeker hunched her laughter into her chest plate. Eliana slouched slightly, pouting.

“Sorry guys, it’s just my—”

They all stopped dead at a rustle in the brush ahead of them, two scouts moving to draw the weapons at their sides as three lithe and painted hunters stepped out onto the path in front of them; the tallest in the middle with his bow drawn, but pointed down. 

“ _GALIFALON!_ ”  
  
  
She was off Fenvir and running fleet-footed, flinging her arms around his neck as her brother managed to loosen his arrow enough to drop his bow entirely and lift his smaller sibling into a laughing, spinning embrace. 

“Hale—Elie, _aneth ara!_ ” She raked her eyes over his face, noting his ever-youthful features, as he seemed to look searchingly at her own.  
  
He remained a whole head-and-some taller than she, with his close-cut golden hair and skin more freckled than tan. The laugh lines around his peridot eyes were the only sign any time had passed since she had last seen him, except perhaps that he had grown into his nose. His Vallaslin, the mark of Andruil, had settled more, also. He looked more truly like a man, now.

_Well, he is. Little Gal._  


“Ar dhruem telemah itha ma uthaan sal,” Eliana murmured, grasping the back of his neck and pressing her forehead against her own, but the flicker of confusion reminded her, he didn’t understand. “I believed I would not be able to ever see you again….”  
  
“You’re home, Halie, and there’s someone you’ll want to see,” He whispered back before releasing her, and turning to inspect her party. He eyed each of her friends in turn—but not one warily, “Andaran atish’an. Welcome to our Home."  
  
  
She found herself grinning excitedly to her friends; catching Solas’s eye and faint smirk, she blushed to the tips of her ears as she silently gestured for them all to follow as they made their way off the path and through the brush. The Aravels were visible across the large, grassy clearing amongst the trees, set up along a small stream where children’s voices could be heard amid and splashing water. Their approach garnered the attention, and a small crowd formed—Eliana could make out Deshanna in front, with her son and First, Eolas, and her daughter and Gal’s bride, Taralani, standing just behind her. When they were within earshot, Deshanna stretched out her arms.  


“Andaran atish’an, Inquisition,” She wrapped Eliana in a warm hug, “Thank you for bringing our Eliana to visit.” 

“Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan,” Eliana bowed ceremoniously to the elderly woman, “May I introduce Lady Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast; acclaimed Author Varric Tethras; my dear Altus Dorian Pavus; The Iron Bull; Sera of Denerim; _Hahren_ Solas; and our resident _Elgar_ of Compassion, Cole.”  


They had climbed down from their mounts and bowed as she announced them. Deshanna smiled warmly as she eyed them each, lingering on Solas a bit longer than the rest—even more so than Cole, which surprised Eliana.  
  
“Welcome, all of you. I hope to get to know each of you better during your stay,” She turned back to Eliana, “Da’len, thank you for the support and information you have been sending in regards to Wycome. We just received a raven this morning from your Spymaster you and your Seeker will want to see. But, that can wait for now.” 

The woman turned back to the Scouts that were now approaching, with the Halla fawn, thanks to Cole’s guidance.  
 

“Keeper Istimaethoriel, Halla'amelan Taralani: in honor of your daughter’s Saota, and your Da'lav'hasal to Galifalon, I offer you this gift of a golden Halla,” Eliana felt the whole official speech was tense and ridiculous, but she _was_ the Inquisitor.

_No longer Ghi'myelan Halesta La’aenoreaan of Clan Lavellan, but Inquisitor Eliana Lavellan.  
_ _How fair it seems that everything should be so different._

  
Taralani sprang forward with the same child-like enthusiasm Eliana remembered her for, cooing over the fawn. The girl was as lovely as ever, tall and long-limbed, though she shared Eliana’s trait of looking still very childlike; with her wide cobalt eyes and straight raven hair, cut similar to Leliana’s, just under her jawline. She had the Moonskin of most of the women in the Lavellan Clan, as they were a long, maternally guided line.

“Ma’ serannas, Inquisitor!” Taralani looked up at Eliana, doe-eyed and beautiful, and she couldn’t help but smile at the girl. She glanced up to see Eolas smiling at his sister faintly. Next to him was an unknown small, fiery-haired Elf woman, clasping his hand, and behind and to his other side, she saw a familiar face. One that didn’t belong anymore….

_Oh, no._   


Laleal's warm amber eyes crinkled as they locked with her own. She appeared the same as Eliana remembered: tall, golden-browned, and lithely muscled. “Lalee” was a crafter, but she looked like a Hart in mid-sprint, even standing still. Her mahogany hair had been cut close to her scalp on one side, and her June’s Vallaslin seemed to have darkened—though that was probably due mostly to Eliana’s memories of Laleal in firelight. Her husband, now the First of Clan Alhavenlan, stood behind her, eyes blank as sea foam. Eliana tried to convey through the short glance shared with her old friend the panic tearing suddenly at her stomach.

_Laleal. You are in danger here! Do you see the Wolf?_  


Laleal’s expression remained unchanged, but she gave the slightest of stiff nods, and Eliana allowed herself an exhale as she felt Galifalon appear again at her side; thanking her and sharing an embrace with Taralani, as the bride squealed in naïve delight, unaware of the current danger. Eliana forced on another grin as she felt Solas’s eyes on her back.  


_Well, shit._

 

* * *

 

 

Solas had seen Eliana’s body tense as she scanned the group for approval of her gift. He didn’t see any faces that seemed to react to her, though: only warm smiles and nods, and two blank-faced Elves that he guessed were married into the Clan, from their difference in appearance.  
  
“So you’re the ‘Hahren’ Elie’s written of,” Galifalon greeted him with surprising warmth, a broad smile and slight bow before offering his hand in welcome.

“I suppose I am,” Solas allowed himself a playful scowl of disapproval at the nickname, before politely smiling back at his Vhenan’s younger sibling, “And you are the one who talks wolves out of eating her.”  
  
“Oh—” Galifalon looked briefly surprised at that, before laughing deeply, “Yes, I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

Eliana’s brother was almost as tall as Solas, himself, and nearly as broad-shouldered. His hair was light gold—more yellow than Eliana’s white—and was pale, though heavily freckled, ending any obvious resemblance to his sister. His eyes were the color of pale, spring shoots, and his features were more strong and squared, making Eliana look almost fragile in comparison. In fact, the Inquisitor seemed more…of _Solas’s_ own People than anyone else here; except perhaps the bronze-skinned woman with the glowing ochre eyes.  
  
“But it did, and we are in your debt for her,” Solas bowed to the young man.  
  
“Do you usually speak so highly of her?” Gal cocked a brow, laughing, “If so, it’d explain why she’s so fond of you. Not that you aren’t friendly, I’m sure, I—” The boy had caught himself in his own words, and stumbled, looking embarrassed.

“No,” Solas grinned slightly, attempting to put Gal back at ease, “she usually tells me I’m too critical.”

“You don’t kiss her ass, and she’ll _still_ sing your praises,” Galifalon raised his brows and nodded in appreciation, “You’ve achieved what we thought impossible, Hahren.” 

“Just Solas, if you will do me the favor,” He found himself smiling a little easier at the young man, who nodded understandingly.  


“Of course.” Gal turned smilingly and received his evident bride as the young woman flung her arms around his waist, cooing, “Solas, this is Taralani, our Halla Keeper and my Mate.”  
  
“Hahren,” The raven-haired girl bowed, her large, wide features exaggerating her youthful appearance.  
  
“He prefers just ‘Solas’, Tara,” Gal corrected in a rather fatherly tone, winking at Solas.  
  
“I can’t decide if you’re much younger or much older than I thought you’d look,” She squinted at the Apostate, her glib comment drawing a chuckle from him, “You should meet my mother. She has wanted to meet you.”  
  
“Tara,” Galifalon looked at his bride rather sternly, before looking at Solas apologetically, “We don’t mean to overwhelm you. We’ve only heard a great deal of your small group and we’re excited to finally put faces to names.”

“ _Din telsila_ ,” Solas waved his hand, speaking before remembering, “It is no bother; actually, I am honored to meet the Inquisitor’s Clan.”

“Do you really just call H— _Elie_ ‘Inquisitor’ all the time?” Taralani peered up at him, with her wide sapphire eyes, “She told me immediately to ‘stop that nonsense’.” The girl did an impression of Eliana’s head bob that was not inaccurate, pulling another chuckle from Solas. 

“No, only when speaking of her with someone else, or in public company,” He smiled, deciding against calling her _Vhenan_ to her brother and his Mate without knowing how Eliana herself might feel about it.  
  
  
“Hahren, is my baby brother bothering you?” Eliana herself stepped into the small circle they had formed, dragging Dorian and Bull behind her.

“Not at all, da’len; Galifalon and Taralani are very engaging,” He smiled at her playfully, and she eyeballed him suspiciously. 

“Gal, these are your new, adopted older brothers, Dorian and Bull,” She introduced her friends to her brother and Tara, immediately drawing the elves’ attention up towards the Qunari’s horns.  
 

“Master Solas,” He heard a soft, lovely voice at his shoulder, and turned to see the dusky-golden skinned woman he had seen before, realized immediately why she had seemed familiar.  


“Lady Laleal,” He bowed slightly, softening his expression, though his curiosity had dramatically peaked.

“I suppose we must’ve heard much of each other, for you to recognize me,” A squint of suspicion flickered across her tawny eyes in a way that reminded him so much of Eliana.

“I have seen you in the Fade, in Eliana’s dreams and memories,” He tried for flattery, “They could not have done you justice.”

“Ha,” Her laugh was sharp and harsh, unsurprised, and he again recalled his first few months knowing Eliana, so many similarities, “I doubt that. She would be much kinder to me than the waking day, _I've'an'virelin._ ”

The woman looked him up and down and straightened herself, smoothing the sneer from her features before sighing.

“Ir abelas, Master Solas,” She locked her gaze with his, not attempting to stare him down, but emphasizing her next words, “Eliana is _greatly_ loved here. We wish to see her as safe and well as possible.”  
  
“Tel'abelas, Lady Laleal,” Solas stared back at her assuredly, his tone even and calm, though his words heavy on the air, “We have the same wish.”

            _And for as long as possible._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma’ Vhenan: My Heart  
> Aneth ara: A sociable/friendly greeting, more common among Dalish themselves, rather than outsiders. Lit. "My safe place"  
> Andaran atish’an: Enter this place in peace. A formal elven greeting. Lit. "I dwell in this place, a place of peace."  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Elgar: Spirit  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Halla'amelan: Halla Keeper  
> Saota: Marriage, bonding  
> Da'lav'hasal: handfasting, an elvhen marriage rite where the partners' hands are tied together  
> Ghi'myelan: Hunter  
> Din telsila: No problem, lit. Not to bother  
> I've'an'virelin: Fade Walker, a dreamer mage  
> Ir abelas: My apologies, I’m sorry  
> Tel'abelas: I am not sorry.


	52. Daddy Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **BIG bombs dropped on Eliana,**  
>  **Solas gets a brief history of Clan Lavellan,**  
>  ** & an interesting gift is given.**
> 
> There is A LOT of Elvhen in this one,  
>  so I split the translations into the top notes and the bottom notes.  
>  I'm sorry it took me so long to write,  
>  I'm doing some house-sitting **/**  
>  re-decorating for the mother-in-law, but  
>    
>  **I AM DESPERATE FOR FEEDBACK ON THIS CHAPTER?**  
>  So, pretty please, send me your thoughts and feels;  
>  have I "Jumped the Shark"?
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading  
>  and staying patient with me!  
>  And extra love & gratitude to  
>  my usual angelbabies!!  
>  (especially Lule and Aisln <3)
> 
> ** <3 MUAH!! xoxoxo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Da'lethallin:** Group of children in the same age-range, similar to a daycare  
>  **Da’len:** Little One  
>  **Fenehis:** Common curse, lit. Wolf cock  
>  **Hahren:** Elder, Teacher  
>  **Tel’sildearalen:** Heartless man; One who  will not love, verses cannot love  
>  **Lenalin:** Father  
>  **Mamae:** Mother  
> 

  
It was unsettlingly _odd_ being with the Clan again, and Eliana couldn’t exactly put her finger on why. She sat around the fire as the sun was low in the sky, sitting between Cassandra and Nehna—a da'lethallin just a few years older than herself, skinning a large portion of Hart hind leg while the other two sliced and chopped various vegetables and herbs. Keeper Deshanna sat across from them, braiding a length of rope, dyed various colors and knotted intricately.

“You recall the last letter I sent you, Inquisitor?” Eliana glanced up to see the Keeper lift her eyes just long enough to make eye contact before returning them to the braid.

“Deshanna, _please_ don’t call me ‘Inquisitor’,” She sighed and smiled, shaking her head, “I remember. It’s Red Lyrium. Not a disease as much as a, I don’t know, a sort of Blight? It’s in their wells, tainting their drinking water.”

“Blighted Lyrium? But…why?” Deshanna looked up again, baffled.

“We do not know for certain, but we believe it is the Venatori. The Tevinter Cult that follows Corypheus,” Cassandra spoke up, looking first at Elie and then at the Keeper, “They have corrupted the Templar Order, as well as the Grey Wardens briefly, with Red Lyrium.”

“As for why they chose to attack Wycome _in particular_ ,” Eliana sighed and looked at her Keeper, her face as awash with guilt as her heart, “I believe the blame belongs to me.”

“They target us to get at you,” Deshanna sighed, shaking her head and her voice thick with heartache, “I am sorry for your troubles, Da’len.”  
  
“Well, Leliana, our Spymaster, has a plan, but….” Eliana hesitated briefly, the words filling her with dread, knowing what fate she would be resigning her dearest loved one to, “It involves sneaking in the Clan’s hunters, since Inquisition agents alone—especially so many human agents—are not likely to be welcome help to the Elves from the Alienage.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be a concern,” Deshanna nodded with a small chuckle, her nostrils flaring slightly in amusement and understanding.

“If you wish, I would be happy to discuss the plan with your hunters when I finish with the onions,” Cassandra offered, looking rather desperate to do something she was more… _comfortable_ with, and Deshanna smiled at the Seeker, getting a strange glint in her eye. 

“Oh, Lady Seeker, thank you. Actually, I can finish those onions for you,” the Keeper stood, pocketing the braid, and reaching for the board Cassandra was holding, “Actually—Neh, would you be a dear and show the Seeker where we keep our maps? And round up the Hunters?”  
  
“Yes, Deshanna,” Nehna returned Deshanna’s rather pointed smile and stood, allowing Deshanna to take her seat next to Eliana as she led Cassandra away, making friendly conversation.  
 

The Keeper scooted slightly closer to Elie and began to chop the onions, much more deft and quickly than Cass had been able to; her aging hands were actually lovely, though calloused, beginning to wrinkle, and covered in scars, with pale blue veins showing through her thinning skin. They were beautiful in their experienced and graceful movement; a strange sort of wisdom one only finds in trees and cliff faces, and other truly steady, time-tested things.  
 

“So, Da’len,” Deshanna’s voice was a low coo, and Eliana remembered how astonishing she had found the Keeper as a child, “Your _Hahren_ ….”  
  
**_Fenehis_** _!_ _I should have known this shit would happen…._

  
“Oh Creators, what has he done?” Elie hissed, careful to keep her voice just as soft, not looking up as Deshanna chuckled quietly.

“Nothing at all. He is certainly respectful,” her Keeper looked over at her with a smirk and a cocked brow, not pausing her slicing, “Are—are you _blushing_ , Halesta?”

“I’m just relieved he has been polite so far,” Eliana didn’t even bother trying to be convincing; she merely returned to skinning the meat in her hands. 

“Mhm. He’s quite handsome,” Deshanna mused, knowingly, “for a man near your father’s age.” Eliana’s whole body flinched at the comment, curling her lips into a sneer.

“How is that old _tel’sildearalen_?” She asked, but her tone conveyed how very much she did not care to know. Deshanna clucked once, airing her disapproval. 

“ ** _Linnarel_** is well. He asked after you,” Deshanna produced a letter from the folds of her robes, tied with a periwinkle ribbon…. Eliana’s breath caught, and she felt a sharp twist in her chest—like a wet cloth being rung.  
 _  
He still remembers my favorite color? NO. No, he knows you are the Inquisitor._  
 _He wants something: power, money, land, fame. Something._  
  
  
She eyed the folded parchment, the ribbon, like a snake with bared fangs, not moving to touch it. 

“Don’t worry, Da’len,” Deshanna cooed, “I told him nothing, but all of Thedas knows who you are.” She paused for a moment, waiting for some movement from Elie, who did not so much as blink.  
  
“I did not read it,” the Keeper pushed the letter towards Eliana, “And you needn’t either. But you should take it.”

Eliana did so, nodding; Deshanna placed a comforting hand on her knee before Elie excused herself. She stood quickly and headed to the tents that had been set up at a polite distance from the Aravels. She didn’t look up from her feet, keeping her head down and her shoulders up, fighting the urge to run; she wanted to burn the letter instead of tucking it away in her rucksack—though she knew she would keep it. Her lenalin….

_By blood, alone. Why did it have to be Mamae? Why hadn’t it been him?_   
  


* * *

  
Solas had watched as Dorian followed Eliana into the tent. He would have gone himself, but the Tevene had seen her first—and, depending on the matter, Solas might only make it worse. She had been visibly shaken, and her face had looked ashen, her tiny, fragile body had seemed held together by sheer force of will. Dorian was best for her, he always seemed to be best for her: Solas decided to give them time.

“Her father wrote her. Linnarel, the bastard.”

The familiar, lovely voice came from beside him, and he turned to see Laleal standing with her arms folded across her chest, staring at Eliana’s tent. 

  
“He left them, all three of them. For Ghilain’s Keeper,” Laleal’s amber eyes were hard and her nails dug nearly white into her biceps, “It marked them for shame. And then her mother died, three years after. Tied a fucking periwinkle ribbon on it, too.” Her upper lip curled in disgust.  
  
_Ah, Ezir el'ulenalin…_  
  
  
“Periwinkle?” Solas kept his voice soft, but couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“That’s what he called her when she was little,” The woman rolled her eyes at the thought, “Because of her eyes—even though they’re not that color. Used to be her favorite color, too.”  
  
“But, no longer?” Solas asked, looking back towards the tent, and Laleal took a step forward to stand beside him, “I think often her eyes are alike amethyst.” 

“I agree…so prismatic,” Her voice was almost distant, and she nodded slightly before turning to him with a knowing grin, teeth flashing white against her bronzed skin, “And you should know her favorite color better than I, no, _Hahren_?”

Solas had the courtesy to look ashamed as he realized he had always assumed Elie was partial to red. He also had become increasingly aware of the insinuation in the tone of every Lavellan he had met.

“You write her, you know her intimately,” He half-shrugged, having wiped his features of expression, though his pique was audible, “The assumption that you would know is not unfounded.”

“Are you saying you _haven’t_ ‘known her intimately’?” Laleal quirked a brow, grinning wider. Solas flustered, involuntarily, unable to prevent the blush that heated his cheeks. 

“That was _not_ the manner of intimacy implied, and you know it,” He hissed before catching himself, tightening his fingers around his opposite wrist behind his back.

Laleal smiled, enjoying the sight of her barb hooking him, but seeing the shadow of envy in the furrow of his brow, the whisper of heartache at the corner of his pout….

“Wait,” Her face softened, and she gently nudged his elbow. Solas turned his head and looked down his nose at her, waiting as told.

“Are we to dual for the honor of her hand now?” Laleal’s voice was softer, kinder, and she smiled gently: showing she meant only to jest, “Because, I’m not sure my Mate will be terribly thrilled with me, should I win.” 

“Nor with me, should you lose,” Solas’s retort was more relaxed, acknowledging her attempt to ease the tension and to show there was no real competition.

“Have you met my Mate yet? Nerien?” Laleal’s face was altered now; more open, but somehow slightly bored.

“I do not believe I have, no,” Solas looked around at the faces of the various Dalish scattered around, unable to find one that might bring to mind that name.

“Would you like to? He’s very dull, but not unkind,” The tawny woman shrugged, chuckling wistfully, before leaning towards Solas and pointing to a group of several older males, “That’s him, there: the younger one, leaning against the tree.”  
  
Solas looked him over. It was hard to tell exactly, but he seemed only slightly taller than Laleal, herself. He was expressionless, appearing very plain and unassuming with long, mousy brown hair and tanned skin—his only memorable feature was his muscles, an oddly bulky physique for an elf.  
  
“I will spare him the bother of attempting conversation,” He tried to subdue his smirk as he teased the woman. 

“He would be grateful for your kindness,” She laughed quietly, a lovely sound. Solas could see now how she and Eliana could be so close, find such comfort in each other.

  
“Who is the First of this Clan?” Solas asked, walking beside Laleal as she strolled casually over towards the main fire circle—now vacated by Deshanna and anyone else.  
  
“Eolas, the Keeper’s son,” She gestured subtly to a couple that appeared to be doing nothing at all, sitting in silence, “That’s him, with his Mate, the crimson-haired sourpuss. No doubt he wishes Elie had never discovered her magic.” Lal laughed, mockingly, at the thought. 

“They were betrothed?” Solas felt no jealousy or bitterness at the thought, just curiosity.

“Unofficially, yes. It was Deshanna’s wish, and they were friends,” Laleal’s tone was a vocal eye-roll. 

“Which is why you were sent away?” Solas realized then that perhaps he had been tactless, “Pardon me if I am prying—”  
  
“No, not at all,” Lal cut him off with a gentle laugh, showing she took no offense, “You’re correct. I was an obstacle.” She grinned rather smugly at the memory.

“I can see why Elie loves you,” Solas offered, “You are of the same nature. Both unique spirits, surrounded by the unremarkable. Excepting, of course, Keeper Istimaethoriel, though she seems….” He trailed off, aware that he may be treading unwisely.  
  
“She has her own agenda,” Laleal sent him a quick glance of confirmation, “Though it’s not malicious. She has to put the Clan first.” She shrugged understandingly as she sat on one of the bench logs.

“Of course. She seems fond of Eliana,” Solas crouched, tugging absentmindedly a weed growing at his feet.

“She always has been. She and Elie’s mother were distant cousins, but close friends. And, as I’m sure you’re aware,” She explained, resting her elbows on her knees, “Elie is easy to adore. She has a kind heart…a ‘unique spirit’, as you said. Otherwise, she would never have been invited back, even to witness Gal’s Soata.”

“All because she is a Mage?” Solas’s brow furrowed in confusion. He had never heard of such a thing about any other Clans. Laleal caught his eye meaningfully, her expression serious as she shook her head almost imperceptibly. 

“That story isn’t mine to tell you, Solas. If Elie wants you to know….” Her voice was quiet, faintly sad, but resolute. He nodded and agreed, thanking her.

He saw movement in his peripheral vision, and turned to see Dorian approaching him, having left Eliana’s tent. Solas stood, straightening himself, as Laleal turned to see what had caught his attention.  
  
“How is she?” He didn’t mean to sound so eager, blurting as soon as Dorian was within earshot.

“Better. She isn’t going to read it any time soon. She is asking for this stunning creature, here beside you,” Dorian smiled at Laleal, who grinned back, fluttering her lashes humorously as she stood. 

“Such a charmer! She always did have excellent taste in friends,” Lal crooned at the Tevene before turning back to Solas, “I have some gifts for her in my pack; would you mind assisting me, Solas?” She winked at Dorian, mouthing something that Solas could not make out.

_Does she speak Tevene?_  
  
Solas’s uncertainty and confusion must have shown on his face, because Dorian nudged him encouragingly.  
  
“Go on, then, Solas. Be a gentleman!” The man raised his eyebrows and smiled, urging him on.  
  
  
Solas warily followed Eliana’s friend to two small bedrolls set under some trees, not far off from a smaller fire circle. There were several packs beside them, a scattering of personal provisions and supplies. Laleal knelt down and grabbed one particularly stuffed rucksack, digging through it with zeal. She suddenly shot a hand up, holding out a rather small wooden box to Solas, which he took with brief hesitance, recognizing a faint hum—a certain, _very old_ , energy.  
  
Opening it, he found two surprising objects: one was a small sphere of Ametrine, no wider than his thumb, attached to a loop of sturdy cord as a pendant. The second object was two combs, connected by various thin chains, adorned with more Ametrine—some simple spheres, while other pieces had been cut into the shape of branches, and leaves. Hair jewelry, from the time of Arlathan….  
  
“They were her Mother’s, used as much to assist her with magic, as to be pretty trinkets. Eliana has never seen them before, doesn’t know they even exist. They were hidden away when her mother bonded to Linnarel,” Laleal didn’t look up; merely continued to dig through the bag.  
  
**_Where_** _did Eliana’s mother get these?_

“I think _you_ should give them to her,” She finished pulling out the occasional folds of cloth and setting them on her knee, raising her head to look up at him. 

“Why?” Solas didn’t understand the motive behind the gesture.

“Because,” Laleal’s voice grew quiet, serious, and sad—but her eyes told him that she would not speak on the subject again, “She deserves to have something tangible left…when you go. To remind her you meant it.”  
  
  
She stood, holding her gifts for Eliana, but did not break eye contact until he nodded his understanding. Having his confirmation, her face changed again into a bright, though empty, smile.  
  
“Okay, I’ll see you later!” Lal chirped, bouncing off to Eliana’s tent, leaving Solas staring at her retreating figure, wondering how she knew even more than Eliana.  
 

            _And doesn’t seem intent on telling her?_   _What could her reason be…?_  
  


* * *

  
Eliana re-read the letter Laleal had left with her, tucked into the folds of the gift of traditional Dalish clothes. She wasn’t sure if she even believed its contents. 

_“I don’t want to make you feel even worse,” Lal had said, “but this was Falassan’s last letter to you. You need to read it; I apologize for opening it, reading it—but it’s important.”  
_

She pushed it all to the back of her mind, and tucked the letter into her book, which she then stuffed to the bottom of her rucksack. This was not the time to think about it. She sighed slightly and shook her head before putting on one of the dresses Laleal had given her. It was a short, fitted ensemble with pale silver embroidery and no sleeves, splits on either side of the apron were cut high up the thigh, as was typical for the Mith’soata Alas'nirathe of the Tel'tath'saotem…. 

  
            _How humiliating. Do I still have to do this if I’m the Inquisitor?_

She laughed aloud at the thought of escape. No doubt she would be made to, regardless. As she began wrapping her legs with a silvery linen—matched carefully to the embroidery thread of the dress—she heard a quiet tap-tap on the canvas. It was no doubt Solas; he always was careful to knock (or, pat, in this case) before entering anywhere considered her personal spaces, and always with just two strident consecutive requisitions.  
  
  
“Yes?” She looked up as he ducked in, and she smiled brightly.  
  
She was happier to see him than she normally would have admitted to herself; but it had been a rough day, and they had only been at the camp for 8 hours.

“Vhenan!” She felt her chest swell at the sight of him: as beautiful as ever with his sea-storm eyes filled with concern, and his beautiful lips parting with confusion at her thrilled greeting. 

“My heart,” He chuckled and cocked a brow, having composed himself, and granted her a smile, “Laleal must be a miracle worker to have you chipper again so soon.” She blushed and bowed her head, returning to her leg wraps.

“Actually, I’m just happy to see you,” She muttered, attempting to sound more casual, “Is that so rare?”

“No, I suppose not,” He conceded, sitting beside her on the bedroll, “Though, you are customarily…less enthusiastic.”

“That’s not true!” Eliana laughed, “You’re always so stoic, I’m usually just trying to match your demeanor.” He raised his brow again with a dubious smile. 

“Mm. Well, I came to see you because,” he lifted a hand, presenting the small wooden box, “I have a gift for you.”

   
It was Eliana’s turn to look disbelieving. She eyed the box’s dark wood and intricate etching, obviously Dalish and very old, before taking from it him. Her brows furrowed, feeling a strange and familiar—though nameless—energy fill her as she traced her fingers over the engravings. She raised her gaze to his own inquiringly, seeing that he watched her with an almost nervous air, before delicately lifting the lid….

            _Oh.... Why did he—?_

_Wait, are they **humming**?!_

 

“They are gorgeous, Solas. Thank you.” He looked concerned again, immediately.

“You don’t like them,” he assumed, glancing down at the ground before she touched his arm.

“No, I truly love them, but I don’t understand—” Her stare was urgent, confused, “Can you not hear them hum? Feel them?”

  
He looked startled at first, and then seemed to go through several other emotions, too quickly for her to identify, before finally getting his bearings.

“Yes, I noticed it as well,” He nodded slowly, expression suspiciously blank, “But no one else has seemed to hear it, not even the other Mages; so I did not think you would, either. It is residual magic—almost ancient, I would say—meant to reinforce your mana.”

She said nothing, just returned her eyes to the gifts. He watched her face for a moment.

“Does it bother you? Painful or make you feel ill?” He finally asked, concerned.

“No,” She ran her gaze over the unfamiliar gemstones, “It actually…. I don’t know. It almost feels… like some piece of myself has been restored? Something I didn’t know I was missing.”  
  
“How interesting,” Solas was watching her carefully when she raised her eyes to his face.  
  
“What are these crystals? I don’t recognize them,” She allowed herself to touch one, the humming seemed to quiet some, as if calmed.

“Ametrine. It is almost unheard of anymore,” Solas had an almost dreamy sound to his voice, as if remembering something fondly, “It has been rarely seen after the fall of Arlathan. I would be careful _when_ you wear the combs, and be careful who should see the pendant, ‘lest they be stolen or coveted.”  
  
His advice was delivered more seriously, looking at her emphatically. She nodded, staring at them again. After a moment, Solas grasped her chin gently and lifted her face back towards his own. 

“Honestly, da’len. Do you like them?” His voice was soft and understanding, “You need not be concerned with hurting my feelings.”

She stood unexpectedly, and Solas followed suit, as if she were fleeing. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted herself en point, pressing her lips against his own with a fervor and need that surprised even her—it certainly had caught him off guard, as she could feel the initial hesitation before he fell into the kiss, matching her passion. She lost herself in him: the way his scent filled her head, the way he tasted both sweet and pleasantly bitter, the warmth of his body touching hers, the movement of his mouth against her own. One of his hands was tangled in her curls, while the other was tight around her waist, as if attempting to physically fuse her to him.

Finally, though, he pulled back and looked at her up and down, taking in her figure in the Dalish garb; the small smile on his lips seemed almost sad. 

“ _Halesta_ ,” it was barely a whisper, almost a breath, “Ane gaelathe venirastathe.”

She felt her face flush, but reached down to the box to remove the jewelry; holding the combs out to him with a wicked grin, her half-lidded eyes glinted and her voice was a low purr.

  
“Help me with my hair?”  
  


* * *

 

> _  
> __ __ **H—** _
> 
> _This will be the last you hear of me. The Wolf has heard my steps, and I am not long for this world. You must endure; stay aware and trust no one. Fen’Harel has many eyes._
> 
> _There is something you must know: Lin is not your true lenalin, as he is of G. Your mother told me a story, shortly before her death. She had once wandered off on her own, as she used to do often before your birth. Upon approaching too close by a she'el'melava, ha'lam'shirem dhru'an, she was stopped by a Ena'sal'in'theneran. Her presence had woken him from Uthenera, and he threatened her death should she attempt to enter the temple. She apologized, promising to come no closer, and he departed._
> 
> _E returned, though, the next day. He again stopped her, asking her if she truly wished to die. She claimed only that she wished to learn from him about our People. He dismissed her, telling her she was not of The People. She came back, day after day, never passing any closer to the temple, but slowly gaining the Ena'sal'in'theneran’s favor. E told me his name was Thanun'nas, and that she had fallen in love with him—though she was already betrothed to L. She claimed that, though he only lay with her once, she became pregnant with you._
> 
> _Thanun'nas refused to see her after their coupling, though she tried for weeks—even going into the dhru'an. She finally left when L came to fetch her for their soata, and L was never in doubt that you were of his blood. E did claim the Ena'sal'in'theneran gave her a gift once, but what it was or where it is was never made known to me._
> 
> _Your mother loved you very much, but it is unwise for anyone to ever discover this of you. You must remain steadfast—the world is at stake._
> 
> _Dareth shiral, da’len._

**—F.A.**  


 

> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Ezir el'ulenalin:** Her secret father ******  
>  Saota: Marriage Ceremony, Wedding Ceremony  
>  **Mith’soata alas'nirathe:** Pre-wedding ceremony dance  
>  **Tel'tath'saotem:** Unwed, lit. “Not yet bonded”  
>  **Vhenan:** (my) Heart  
>  **Ane gaelathe venirastathe:** You are the pure embodiment of divinity  
>  **She'el'melava:** Former, old, bygone  
>  **Ha'lam'shirem:** Abandoned  
>  **Dhru'an:** Temple  
>  **Ena'sal'in'theneran: *** Sentinel Elves, Lit. “Comfort/healing of the Waking Dream”  
>  **Uthenera:** Prolonged slumber practiced by ancient elves. Lit. “never-ending waking dream”  
>  **Dareth shiral:** “Safe Journey”, A farewell
> 
> **~~~**
> 
>   
>  Thanemor’nas **−** Name meaning “Used of the Heart”, representative of the concept of commitment to serving the will of those you have devoted yourself to, like a knight or maybe a priest.
> 
> **~~~**
> 
> ***** Ancient Arcane Warriors protecting tombs where ancient elves slumbered in Uthenera.  
>    
>  ****Ezirs is a stab at subjective third person perspective. Corrections?**
> 
>  


	53. A Snag in the Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **Deshanna and Solas have a "Talk",**  
>  **Solas and Elie have a..tiff? Kinda?**  
>  **And, as always, bad news**  
>  **has the worst timing.**
> 
> **THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH**  
>  for reading, for the positive feedback,  
>  and for being all-around **amazing**  
>  ily all. MUAH!!  <3 xoxox

  
  
The Lavellan Clan campsite had been a hub of happy activity from the moment the sun lowered behind the threes. All three fire circles were blazing, surrounded by makeshift buffets: Aravel doors removed and placed atop wine barrels, piled high with traditional Dalish food. Laughter and conversation filled the air, almost drowning out the drum and woodwind band playing. Solas had seen such things before–either from afar or in the Fade–but _this..._ this was beyond anything he had witnessed before. Lavellans, it seemed, took their celebrations to another plane entirely.   
And there was his Vhenan, right in the thick of it all. He couldn't remember seeing her so carefree, so blissful. She had brought Solas a platter of food, a tankard or wine, and a cup of water; sitting at the shadowed edge of the circle with him for, what felt to him, only a moment. She was twirling off then, all smiles and deep, belly laughs.   
  
He watched her now as she tried to teach Dorian a simple, common Dalish dance; seeing her more than ever before as Halesta instead of Eliana. Dorian proved himself a quick study, but, as they both grew more intoxicated on wine, the Tevene's grace lessened, while the Inquisitor only became more poised, in her wild, Dalish way. A high-pitched whistle came from somewhere, and the music came to a stop.   
  
The Dalish seemed to know what to do without instruction: the males gathered in a circle outside of the benches while the older women sat, leaving only the younger elven woman encircling the fire. Dorian and Varric, who had been dancing, moved closer to sit with the rest of the small visiting group. Solas was briefly distracted by a grunt, looking over to see Keeper Deshanna lower herself onto to bare ground beside him. They shared a polite smile while she settled herself.

"Master Solas," the Keeper's low, even voice carried uninterrupted, though the music had begun again, "Have you ever attended a Dalish Mith’saota alas'nirathe?"

"Not quite so close, no," He smiled at her, and she laughed heartily, catching his meeting.

"Do you happen to know what comes next?" She raised an eyebrow, expression somewhere between curious and amused.

"I am afraid I have not been privy to the occurring event,"  He was lying, though convincingly; it had been some time since he last witnessed the spectacle.

"It is the dance of the Tel'tath'saotem, where those who have not yet been approached as a Mate," Deshanna turned her face to the women around the fire—some appeared quite young.

"Ah, yes," Solas's eyes found Eliana, facing away from him as the percussion began, "I am familiar with the tradition."

The drumbeat was slowly building in tempo, and the ring of Lavellan women began to spin and stomp, orbiting the center flame in a dextral motion. They gracefully lifted their hands, as the men began chanting some ritualistic Elvhen verse; simplistic and meaningless, about their hearts' desires. Solas found Eliana again, having lost her briefly in the dimly lit blur of women. Her face appeared flush, and—judging from the blank, tight-lipped expression—it of was shame and frustration.   
The dance was fluid, rolling hips and loose limbs swaying as their feet spun them in a smooth twist; interrupted only briefly by the timed stomp before the circle continued its rotation. Even with the dispassion on her face, Eliana's body moved with her usual grace—and a surprising fervor. He found the elegant, high arch of her small, half-shod feet lovely somehow.   
  
Solas's eyes lingered on the glide of her hips, before a single, glinting bead of sweat drew his attention: rolling down her bare thigh when she lifted her bent knee high in mid-turn.  The silver embroidery against the dark dress seemed to reflect in her pale eyes when they met his own, and he felt a stirring so animalistic, he felt as if it may break his control...he was sure she had seen it on his face.

"Our Elie is quite fond of you," Deshanna's attempt at nonchalance was weak, but Solas believed she intended it to be transparent, “She is exceptionally lovely, isn’t she?”

"Yes, she is. And, so I have been informed," His tone flat but polite, not taking his eyes off of his Vhenan, "Quite often, actually, since our arrival."

"Ah, but what do  _you_  think of our Elie?" The Keeper was much more pointed in her inquiry than any other in the Clan had been, "And kindly spare me the 'kind and fair leader' nonsense. I’m not a member of your Inquisition."

Solas turned his head sharply then, meeting Deshanna's arched brow and knowing stare with his guard up. Her question was what he thought of Eliana, but she was asking what he  _felt_  for her, what his  _intentions_  were. The woman’s face betrayed none of what she could know, what her thoughts may be. He might as well tell the woman the truth.

“Ame bell'annaros asa,” He sighed quietly, turning back to the dance, “As ya veremen ma lath'in. Y…ar'an tela revas'ne hima tuathem.”  
  
“Halam'shivanas ya’eolasa elvar'nas’el or abelasen, Ha’shielan,” She sighed, her tone embittered and sorrowful and Solas saw in the corner of his eye as she shook her head ever so slightly—not asking what duty it was he would choose over love.

_She no doubt believes it is the Inquisitor who places her burden above_ me _…._

“Melahn melana gara,” the Keeper only breathed, barely audible even to Solas’s ears, “Halesta judala ma, vis as nadas. I ra ju'dana ash.  
  
“I would hope for nothing less,” He managed to whisper back, just before the beating drums ceased and the dance ended.

There was cheering, applause, Dalish calling the names of one dancing woman or the other. Eliana was immediately pulled over to their party—Laleal and her mate ( _Nerien_ , _I believe?_ ) sat with Cassandra, Dorian, Varric, and Bull as they laughed and cheered. Little Sera, already incoherently drunk, was resting against Bull’s back as she seemed to nod in and out of consciousness.

“Elie, you were so _sensual,_ ” Dorian kept his balance just long enough to place a kiss on Eliana’s cheek.  
  
“Foxlette, you didn’t dance for us like that back at Griffon Wing Keep!,” Varric was boisterously intoxicated—in other words: at his most entertaining. Solas realized Deshanna had slipped away at some point when he had looked away.  
  
“That’s because I’m the _Inquisitor_ ,” Eliana’s tone was joking, but her discomfort was obvious.

“Yes, Varric,” the Seeker slurred, unused to the strength of Elvish wine, “A certain manner of dignity must be…. What is that word? Maintenance? No, wait… _maintained!_ Maintained.”

“Seeker, yer sloshed,” Varric tried to nudge her with his elbow, but he slipped, falling into his lap.

“You are! Though, you are always i-inebriated,” Cassandra giggled girlishly.

“You’re all drunk,” Bull chuckled, wrapping his arm affectionately around Dorian, who had sloped into his Amatus, closing his eyes heavily, “Explains why Boss here can out-drink most of us, though.” Bull shot a wink at Eliana and she smiled at him, gratefully.

“Need any help putting these hooligans to bed?” She offered to assist the Qunari, but her eyes flickering over to Solas unconsciously. Iron Bull, able to hold his drink, was aware enough to her involuntary action, and struggled to suppress his grin as he shook his head.  
  
“Nah, I think Varric and I have got it, Boss,” Bull gently refused the proposal.

Carefully tossing Sera over one shoulder and tugging Dorian’s arm over the other—supporting the rest of the Mage on his arm—the Iron Bull started off towards their tents. Varric, no more unsteady than usual, helped the Seeker to her feet; allowing her to kiss and pat Elie’s cheek affectionately before leading her, too, off to their camp-within-a-camp.

  
Eliana watched them briefly before turning to face Solas, looking atypically timid. Her moonskin was flush with drink and dancing, and she gave him a demure smile, ducking her head ever so slightly. He found himself standing as the music picked up again, and couples now danced wildly.

“Care to take a walk, Hahren?” He found himself relieved that the invitation was not to dance, and, without thinking, offered her his hand.

She took it subtly, allowing their clasped hands to remain hidden in the shadows as he led her back towards the Aravels and nearby stream. Once mostly out of sight, he slowed his pace and allowed her to lead him to a large boulder. She released his fingers, climbing the rock easily and walking to the edge over-hanging the creek; sitting with innocent ease, she began unwrapping her feet, leaving the linen folded neatly on the boulder before leaping lightly back down to the pebbled edge of the stream.

“You looked—look—lovely, da’len,” Solas felt himself oddly apprehensive; assuming perhaps her sheepish bearing had affected him.

“Ha, you’d think I’d have been able to get out of it, since I don’t even belong to the Clan anymore,”  
  
She assumed he was referring to the alas'nirathe and shrugged, flushing again. He didn’t correct her: she _had_ been mesmerizing.

“I believe your Clan is under the impression that we…that I, ah,” He shook his head, swallowing his nervous chuckle, “Ame, esayal, esalathal ma.”  
  
She stopped walking at this, and as he turned back to her, he saw her brow furrowed and lips slightly parted; appearing somewhere between incensed and confused.

“Wh—Solas, I didn’t say anything—”  
  
“I would not think, ah…. It would be very—”  
  
“I didn’t say, or imply—”  
  
“No, I did not think so.” He finally managed to get the right words in line, speaking before she could continue her protests.

“But….” Her face changed, expressing more confusion and hint of injury, as if she had been slapped in the face, “Ar'ane saron….?”

“Vin,” He hesitated, speaking slowly, his voice low as he watched her face, “…Savis, vir’sasha.”

Her posture straightened and her face shifted into a blank, hardened expression: her lips barely pursed, and Solas saw her fists clench in his periphery. She nodded casually, though, giving him a brief _“of course”_ look and a short, harsh laugh.

_Do not feel guilty. You both know this is unable to last._

For a moment, she stood watching his face for any change in his demeanor—watching for any indication that their relationship was more to him than he was claiming. And, when unrewarded with so much as a twitch, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the camp, stopping only to lift herself and grab her foot-wraps from the large stone.   
  
_Fenehis…._  
  
  


* * *

  
            Don’t do it. Don’t cry. Do not fucking cry, Halesta! He didn’t tell you a thing you didn’t already know—anything you wouldn’t   
_have told him if he’d asked you the same thing. You must still be able to kill him, if need be._

She refused to have her feelings hurt by _the truth_. Stretching, she loosened her limbs, shaking them out before straightening her spine again and lifting her chin. There were very few elves still dancing drunkenly around the fire circles: some having gone to bed, but many were passed out, sleeping where they had fallen. She dipped into her tent, impatiently tugging off her dress and tossing it aside with her wraps, before pulling on a pair of her lighter weight leggings and a loose sleep-shirt and slipping back out into the dark.  
  
Heading off into the trees surrounding the camp, she walked parallel to the trail they had arrived from. It was only a short while before finding a tree she liked—her bare feet silent on the underbrush as she took a running leap; grasping the lowest branch, hanging about two feet above her head, using her momentum to swing back enough to pull herself up and onto it. She crouched only a moment before jumping again and hauling her body up another, and then another. She perched, maybe 20 feet above the ground, and leaned against the tree, letting out a long sigh.

_What have you done, foolish girl? Knowingly falling in love with a Wolf…._  
  
  
The camp was no longer visible, hidden in the thick woods behind her, but she could see the wide, packed-dirt road they had travelled, and the moon bright and full amongst scattered and swift-moving clouds. She sat, swinging a leg and humming the tune to an old song her mother used to sing, _Melahn Fen'Harel Veremem Ash’Odhe_ , though she had long since forgotten the words.  
  
She wasn’t there long when she heard the quietest, faintest of panting and a single pair of feet padding on the ground, the tempo of a run. She stood, bracing herself against the trunk, watching as three shadows approached; all running at the steady, maintained pace of long-distance messengers. Allowing her eyes to adjust, she could make out the figures of an Inquisition Scout, whose footsteps were distinct, and two Dalish Hunters, silent footfall, though one was breathing heavily. She whistled the distinct birdcall she had learned as a hunter—unique to her Clan, and easily unnoticed by humans. The Hunter in front stopped and held up a hand, signaling for the others to stop and remain silent, listening. Eliana whistled again, and the Hunter looked up; able to faintly make out her figure in the tree, he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.  
  
_“Ehn ya’melena?”_

“Inquisitor Eliana Lavellan,” She called back softly, “Wait there, I’m coming down.”

She slid down the trunk with ease, grabbing the occasional branch to slow her descent to a safe speed. She was mid-stride as she hit the ground, quietly moving towards the road and careful to make noise as she exited the brush. The Scout saluted her, fist to his chest and a crooked grin as he bowed, as the Hunters each gave her a polite nod.

“What’s the matter?” She knew they needed to catch their breath, but it was obviously important if they were running.  
  
“Wycome’s nobles have started an uprising,” The Scout seemed the only one unaffected by the exertion, still wearing his crooked grin—though Eliana noticed it seemed to be more of a nervous habit than humor, “The City Elves have formed a resistance, but they won’t last long without reinforcements.”

“ _Fenedhis!_ Alright, what’s your name?”

“Call me Jester,” She recognized the name, and the smile seemed more appropriate: Leliana had called him “one of her best”. She was amazed he was still bouncing in front of her with nervous energy.

“Okay, Jester, do you think you can run ahead to the camp and find Cassandra?” He nodded and took off again before she even finished her sentence; she called after him, “And wake Keeper Istimaethoriel!”

He lifted a hand as he moved away from them, acknowledging the order, and was soon out of sight entirely.

“Let’s walk back so you can catch your breath,” She turned to the Hunters, trying to smile comfortingly as they began walking towards the Clan, “What are your names?”

“I’m Borean,” The Hunter that had stopped the others spoke, and she realized he was just an _Eolas'esayelan_ , maybe seventeen, “And this is Sulvuna.”  
  
Sulvuna appeared about a year younger than Borean, and was petite, but she had fierce eyes, sharp features, and a deep scar leading from her left cheekbone, curving down through both lips. Borean, in contrast, was a head taller than his companion, with a kind face and the chubby cheeks of a child.  
  
“Shathe vhellal,” Eliana nodded to them each in turn, and they replied in kind, walking the rest of the way in silence.

  
They arrived back at the campsite to find—

_Chaos. Utter chaos._

Still-intoxicated elves were running every direction, calling out to each other in fear. Deshanna was nowhere to be seen, and none of the Clan was listening to Cassandra’s orders for silence and attention. Eliana felt her stomach turn in fear; she had never seen her people behave like this. Finally, a voice broke through.

“ ** _Telahna._** Pay attention.”  
  
It was Solas, of course. And Eliana found herself surprised as everyone stopped in their tracks, ceased their screaming, and turned to face him. She saw him then, standing tall with his hands clasped behind his back, Galifalon at his side. As Elie strode toward them, Deshanna appeared rounding her Aravel in her over-robe, looking disheveled, with Eolas and Taralani following close behind.

“We have to leave as soon as possible,” Jester was speaking urgently to Cassandra, Solas, and Gal, “They could easily be wiped out, and then the city will be coming after all of you.”

“He’s right,” Galifalon nodded his agreement, looking urgently at Deshanna and Eolas, “They sent their own to warn us, we can’t just let them all die.”  
  
“Gal, our saota is _tomorrow_ ,” Taralani sounded more whiny than worried, which grated of Elie’s nerves.

“Galifalon, you are Panelan'virelan,” Deshanna spoke slowly, locking her gaze with his, “I defer to you: shall we wait? Or shall we send help now?”

Eliana watched as her brother’s jaw set, clenching firmly as he took a deep breath in.

“We leave in an hour. I will take fifteen of our Hunters,” He was determined, and Elie felt a momentary swell of pride—before it was washed away by a wave of foreboding.

“I’m coming too,” She announced, and the group turned in surprise; they hadn’t noticed her absence or her return.

“Vhenan, you shouldn’t—” Solas had let the endearment slip, but Eliana didn’t notice the wide-eyed glances shared by any Dalish within earshot.

“No, Solas. If Galifalon is going, so am I.”  
  
She mimicked her brother’s face of resolve and crossed her arms sternly over her chest. Gal flashed her a grin ( _He’s probably thinking, “just like old times!”_ ). Solas sighed heavily and squeezed his eyes shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Fine, then. We’re going,” He conceded, and his expression told her it would be pointless to argue.

“I will go wake Dorian, Sera, and Bull,” Cassandra sighed and shuffled off, the Seeker’s face making plain her chagrin.

“Go get dressed, da’len,” Solas ordered sharply with an annoyed glanced as she passed him.

            _Gava em, Fen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Mith’saota alas'nirathe: Pre-wedding ceremony dance  
> Tel'tath'saotem: Unwed, lit. “Not yet bonded”  
> Ame bell'annaros asa: I am eternally hers.  
> As ya veremen ma *lath'in: She has taken hold of my heart.  
> Ya ar'an tela revas'ne hima tuathem: But we are unable freely to become united  
> Halam'shivanas: The sweet sacrifice of duty, lit. “Do your duty to the end”  
> Ya’eolasa elvar'nas’el or abelasen: Is to know cruelest/most cruel of sorrows.  
> Ha’shielan: Wise Wanderer  
> Melahn melana gara: When the time comes  
> Halesta judala ma, vis as nadas: Halesta will kill you, if she must.  
> I ra ju'dana ash: And it will shatter/break her  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Ame, esayal, esalathal ma: I am, maybe, courting you.  
> Ar'ane saron: We are together  
> Vin: Yes  
> Savis, vir’sasha: although, in a way alone/apart/unique  
> Fenehis: Common curse, lit. Wolf cock  
> Melahn Fen'Harel Veremem Ash’Odhe: When the Dread Wolf Caught Her Scent  
> Ehn ya’melena: Who waits  
> Eolas'esayelan: Apprentice, lit. knowledge seeker  
> Shathe vhellal: Nice to meet you, lit. Happy meeting  
> Telahna: Hush, to be silent  
> Saota: Marriage Ceremony, Wedding Ceremony  
> Panelan'virelan: Master Warrior, lit. One who walks the path of the warrior  
> Gava em, Fen: Bite me, Wolf 
> 
>  
> 
> ***** lath'in: Heart, "place where love lives" lit. love inside
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Thank you again for reading & any/all feedback!!**  
>  **XOXOXO <3 <3 <3 **  
> _Sorry about all the Elvhen...._


	54. Galifalon, Friend of All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Summary, I'm sorry.  
> You'll just have to read it....
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize in advance  
> for the short and sad...  
> But thank you so much  
> for reading & your support  
> and I love you all!! 
> 
> Muah!! <3 xoxox

 

> __  
>   
>             __ N—
> 
> _We brought the Dalish forces, as well as E’s co., into the city. They joined with a resistance group formed by the elves living in Wycome and struck at Duke Antoine and the Red Lyrium supplies that had been placed in the city's wells.  
>  _ _When the Red Lyrium was shown to the human merchants and laborers, they quickly joined with the Dalish and city elves. The fighting was short but brutal, culminating in the deaths of Duke Antoine and his personal retinue, which included Venatori agents._
> 
> _Most of Wycome's nobles have fled the popular uprising and now claim this was an elven uprising that killed a beloved ruler. For now, however, the Dalish are seen as heroes in Wycome. They remain in the city, uncertain of what to do next.  
>  E’s brother was fatally wounded in the fight—a lucky hit by a Venatori arrow—and the wedding became a burial ceremony. E is, by all accounts, inconsolable. The party is currently en route back to the port from which they departed._
> 
> _—J_

 

* * *

 

_Solas had watched as Eliana sliced her way through a large, obese noble wielding a rusted old sword—the effects of the Red Lyrium on his appearance was evident, as his veins showed a deep purple through thin and pallid skin. She called out to Galifalon to watch his left, and he loosed an arrow without even looking, sending it straight through the eye socket of a Venatori, dressed like a local citizen. Solas extended his barrier of protection, focused trying to keep up with Eliana as she flew from one target to the next. Gal passed Eliana as she spotted for him: he leapt up onto the ledge of the statue, made his aim, and loosed his final arrow, slipping between the two guards in plate armor, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the Duke—and the arrow flew straight through Antoine’s chest._

_And then Gal was on his back, gasping as he clutched at the ebony arrow protruding from his chest, eyes wide._  
  
_  
_ _“GAL—” Eliana was screaming, flinging herself to the ground beside him, not seeing the last few Venatori approaching. Solas called her name, but she just looked up into his own eyes: pure terror, pleading, desperation._

_“Go,” Dorian appeared at his side, followed closely by Bull, Varric providing cover-fire, “If anyone can save him, it’s you. Go. I’ll take care of the barrier.”_

_“Help him, please—” Eliana begged as Solas kneeled beside her, “I’m right here, da’isa’ma'lin. Hold on, linor'malan; hold on and stay with me, love.”  
  
_ She chanted over and over to Gal, who was holding her eyes with panicked horror, as she cradled his head in her lap. Solas closed his eyes as he pressed his magic into Galifalon’s chest, probing and searching….  


_“Elie, it scraped his heart,” He met her eyes, watched as they filled with anxiety and aggression, “He’s bleeding internally, straight into his chest cavity—”  
  
“ **No** —Solas, please.” Her voice was a raspy, quiet scream, and she grasped at her brother’s face and shoulders, begging.  
  
__  
“Vhenan. I can’t remove the arrow, and even if I could,” His own voice was apologetic, but slightly monotonous, trying to block out the emotions threatening to overwhelm him….  
  
  
“There’s nothing I can do. Ma rya’rea ish vara, Halesta.”  
  
_ “No, NO! Solas—” Screeching, pleading but Galifalon lifted his hand off of the arrow shaft and placed it on her cheek, smudging it with blood, and when she placed both of her hands over his own, he interlaced his fingers with his sisters.

_“Halie, it’s okay….I,” Gal lost his breath, but he tried to look at her comfortingly through his panic, “Ar lath ma, Ha’asa'ma'lin. Keep kicking ass, okay?”_

_“No, Gal, just—”  
  
_ “Okay, ‘Inquisitor’?” Galifalon managed a weak smile before flinching in pain, “Solas?”

_“Gal, no!” Eliana collapsed over her brother, sobbing now, “Gal, please….”_

_“Halesta,” Solas wanted to comfort her, to be soft with her, but this was not the time, “I can keep him from hurting anymore.”  
  
_ She raised her eyes to his face, swollen and red and pouring tears that ran down her nose, dripping off the tip; then she sniffled slightly, looking at her brother. Gal barely managed a nod, flinching in agony. She leaned down, gently, and pressed her forehead against her brother’s hand, still clenched in her own.

_“Do it.” She breathed, not releasing her brother._

_Even after Solas cast his spell, and let Galifalon’s_ _Sal slip back to the Fade._

_Still then, she held him._

  
“I’m sorry, Halesta,” He whispered into hair, now, as she slept, “I am _so_ sorry.”  
  
She had locked herself in quarters since they re-boarded the ship, and hadn’t spoken since the burial. Varric had picked the lock for him, and Solas had slipped in to find her sleeping. So he had done what any man would have done, unable to comfort the woman he loved: he climbed into the bed beside her, held her sleeping body against his own as gently—yet closely—as he could, and brushed her white curls off her tear-stained face. 

He moved to adjust the blanket a little more firmly around her, and caught a glimpse of her hands under the sheets, wrapped around her journal. Solas smiled slightly to himself, and slid the book out of her grasp, turning gently to set on the floor beside the bunk atop her rucksack—when a creased slip of parchment slipped out, falling on the bed, face up. He didn’t intend to read it, honestly, but as he lifted the page to replace it into the binding, he saw the familiar hand of someone he did not expect….  


              _This will be the last you hear of me. The Wolf has heard my steps, and I am not long for this world.  
You must endure; stay aware and trust no one. Fen’Harel has many eyes._

**_There is something you must know_ ** _….  
_

His eyes flitted over the note once, twice, and then, more slowly the third time. He looked at the sleeping form of his Vhenan at his side, seeing the evidence with the knowledgeably fresh eyes of _why_ her appearance was so reminiscent of _his People_. 

He resisted the urge to crush the note in his hand, to take it from her— _As if she hasn’t already read it,_ he thought. He sighed, and placed it back into the book. It didn’t really change anything. In fact, it certainly didn’t change anything. He had just believed it impossible: that anyone as close to what The People were, what _he_ was, could exist….  


_She_ _forever is reminding me what a tiny wonder she is. A force of nature, ma’ Vhenan.  
_ _Ma’ Halesta…._  
  


* * *

Her dreams were reoccurring, just the same images over and over. Still, all she could do was sleep. But Dorian had burst in, thanks to one or the other rogues onboard, with a tray carrying a bowl of porridge, just the way she liked: topped it with blackberries and brown sugar, and a ramekin of cream next to it. She had groan and rolled away but he had scolded her and pulled her into him as he crawled onto the bed next to her, telling her to eat.

He now stroked her hair as they sat in silence, watching as she practically forced her meal down her own throat. He wasn’t going to bother her with talk of getting over it, she knew that. He would quit trying to take care of her if he believed she was holding onto it too long, if he believed she was no longer grieving, but merely feeling sorry for herself.

“We make landfall just after sunset,” He nudging her elbow when it paused, encouraging her to bring the spoon to her mouth, “Solas has stayed out of your dreams at my insistence: I thought it might help your mind to process things on its own.” He lowered his voice slightly, sweetly rubbing a hand over her back.  
  
“He’s very worried about you, my Pearl,” Dorian kissed her forehead as she drew the spoon from her lips, “But wants to give you time. He thinks you blame him for being unable to help.”  
  
She swallowed her mouthful before turning her head to look at her beautiful, extraordinary friend, her brow furrowed slightly.

“Well? Do you?” Dorian raised a brow at her, inquiringly. 

“….No,” The realization came as she said the words, “No. He wouldn’t have let Gal die like that if he could have helped it.”

  
Dorian nodded, the tiniest smile of approval tucked into one corner of his mouth as she turned back to her food and he leaned back against the wall. She was suddenly overwhelmed, dropping the spoon into the almost-empty bowl as she began to sob.  
  
“Oh, darling,” Dorian started, leaning forward again, “I can’t imagine—”  
  
“N-n—no,” She stopped him, turning her body in towards him and clutching at the lapels of his robe, “I—it’s not that….” He wrapped his arms around her and, smoothing her hair lovingly, looked at her questioningly.  
  
“Then what, Elie?” He almost held a small laugh in his voice.  
 

“Thank you,” She pulled away and looked up into his face, “For everything. You accepted my friendship after a single ordeal, and are always here to take care of me, or to put me in my place, and….” She sniffled, taking a deep breath and blinking the tears out of her eyes before continuing. 

“You’re invaluable to me, Dorian; my closest, most precious fortune. My best friend. I love you.” She tried a smile, even with the tears, before pressing her face back to his chest.  
  
  
“Oh, _parva dilectia_ , you are my greatest treasure. I am grateful to have you as my closest friend, and I love _you_ …” He gently pressed her shoulders back so she would look at him, his eyes evocative and his face blank—and then he broke into a wicked little smile, “Just more fantastically than you love me.” 

“Of course,” she allowed herself a small laugh, though it sounded odd to hear from her own mouth, and gently head-butted him before lifting the spoon again to finish off the last of the porridge, feeling a little more stable.

“So, if he were to come see you…?” Dorian led, glancing at his nails nonchalantly.

“I would like that.” She paused for a moment and looked at the empty bowl, feeling full but already missing the taste—feeling, herself, like an empty vessel: drained of all she had to give, though knowing she more was needed of her.  


“I’m not going to be okay for a while, you know,” She murmured weakly, apologetically, as she looked at her reflection in the warped metal of the spoon. 

“I know, my pearl. Anyone who expects you to be, well,” Her dearest friend pulled her back into the crook of his arm warmly; his voice soft, a serious joke, “You just let me know. Solas has given me a few new spells to practice, and I could use some targets.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen  
> Da’isa'ma'lin: Little Brother  
> Linor'malan: Blood of my blood  
> Ma rya’rea ish vara: You must let him leave, depart.  
> Ar lath ma: I love you  
> Ha’asa'ma'lin: “Big Sister”, Lit. She of my blood  
> Sal: Soul, in the spiritual or life-giving sense  
> Ma’ Vhenan: My Heart
> 
> Tevene:  
> Parva dilectia: Little beloved


	55. Definitions of Delicate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short little Smutlette,  
> because I think we all deserve it.
> 
> Thank you so much for hanging  
> in there with me, everyone!  
> You are all amazing <3  
> Muah!! xoxoxo

  
Solas knocked on the door adjoining their rooms, and took the resulting muffled murmur as an invitation inside. Eliana was curled into a little ball with the feather pillow tucked between her knees and the blankets swirled around her in a C-shape, hiding her eyes from the bright sunrise; The King and Queen had kindly moved them up to rooms with windows upon their return, since they would be staying a few more days.

  
“Vhenan? I have brought you tea,” He kept his voice soft, though his chest ached every time he looked at her lately.  
  
“Mm, thank—” she interrupted herself as she sat up, stretching her arms over her head before lazily bending one to cover her mouth with her hand, “—you. Sorry.”

_Adorable da’hale’udh…._  
  
  
He smiled slightly, unable to help himself, at her sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes and mess of bed-tousled snowy curls atop her head as she leaned back against the headboard; taking the the cup from his hands and immediately taking a large sip.  
  
“Come,” She patted the bed next to her before stopping to cover her mouth as she yawned again. Then she seemed to re-think her wording, “I mean, would you mind? Sitting with me for a moment?”  
  
She hadn’t been cold towards him since…everything that had happened, but she had remained very withdrawn: even from Dorian. He felt a small squeeze in his chest at her gesture.  


“Ma nuvenin, ma’ lath,” He walked around to the opposite side of the bed, bare feet cold and silent on the stone, and perched at the edge: one foot on the bed-rail, and the other on the floor.

“No, I meant,” She tugged on his shirt, half-heartedly trying to pull him closer; expression of a mother who has told their da’len to do something a thousand times, “ _Actually sit_ with me. Feet on the bed, let’s go.”  
  
She sounded more like herself, but he wasn’t naïve. She would take a long time to mourn the loss of her brother fully; but, for now, he could tell she knew she’d have to find the time to do so in the moments between her being Inquisitor.

He did as she asked, reclining against the headboard just as she was, and she tossed a corner of the blanket over his bare feet. She surprised him then by gently slipping her little hand into his own, interlacing their fingers; the green glow of her mark brighter through the cracks where their palms met.

“Min’os san?” Her lilac eyes were wide and concerned as she glanced up at him, turned to prisms by the flood of light from the rising sun, and her pouty lips, unusually chapped, were parted just slightly.

“Then'ara'sal'inast,” And he let her hear the smile in his voice as she turned her face back to the window as sipped her tea; trading turns rubbing their thumbs in lazy, absent-minded circles over the back of one another’s hands, sitting silently until the sunlight had changed from a pale yellow the bright white of day.  


After sitting silently for so long, the gentle tapping on the door startled Eliana, and she would have spilled her tea had Solas not taken the cup from her just as she gave a slight jolt.

“Inquisitor? Oh, you’re up!”  
  
Josephine had opened the door as quietly as she could manage, looking surprised to see Elie awake and Solas sitting at her side; the Inquisitor had been sleeping a great deal since their return the night before last. The Ambassador gave Solas a sly, grateful smile, before turning her attention to his Vhenan.

“Elie, did you still plan on going to the Alienage today?” Josephine’s voice was a bit too soft and pitying, and Solas tried to shoot her a glance, but he could already feel Eliana’s body tense beside him.

“Yes.”  
  
“A-are you certain you—” The Inquisitor’s voice had been sharp, and the Ambassador was still attempting sympathy, but finally looked at Solas long enough for him to shake his head slightly, just as Eliana snapped again.

“Yes, I _am_ certain.” 

“Y-yes, of course.” Josephine’s flush was evident, and she bowed before backing out of the room and closing the door behind her, causing Eliana’s expression to shift into mortification at her behavior.  


“She will forgive you, Vhenan,” He pulled Eliana into his chest, noticing how she was controlling her breathing as she buried her face into his tunic.

“Different people require different manners of condolence. She wasn’t attempting to offer you pity, you know that. Your gentle and kind nature led her to believe you might need a delicate sort,” He had a thought as he spoke and punctuated his sentence with a soft chuckle, causing her to pull her head away to look at his face, questioningly.

“You must remember, Elie,” He used her pet-name for the first time aloud, not realizing the look crossing her face as she absorbed hearing it spoken in his voice, “Josephine has never had occasion to see you fight.” 

“Hm, yeah. I suppose you’re right,” She jutted her bottom lip out slightly, thinking, before chuckling a little herself as she conceded.  
 

He dipped his head somewhat, brushing his lips against the bottom edge of her ear, lowering his voice into a purr.

“Not everyone had such experience with your lack of fragility….”  
  
  
Her shiver was its own reward, and he did not plan to push her—but her lips were abruptly pressed firm against his own, and her fist was tangled in his shirt: pulling him harder against her as she climbed on top of him, never breaking the kiss. He instinctively kissed back—it had been weeks since she had been open to his touch, and he had become to feel it would drive him mad if he she continued to remain withdrawn from him. Her movements were someplace between pleading and wanton as she licked the tip of his ear.

“Elie, are you entirely sure—“ He began as she nipped at his lobe, and when she pulled back, her voice came in a low, gravelly demand.

 “ _Solas,_ telahna mar vanadirth,” and she tugged back his collar, biting his neck roughly, drawing a deep growl from him before she tugged off his shirts.  
  
  
He managed to register the fleeting thought that she always knew what to do to break his composure, before animalistic need took over his mind; wrapping a long-fingered hand around her throat and rolling her over to lie pinned beneath him. He was not so unaware as to cut off her breathing entirely, and the heavy-lidded look she met him with was lascivious, as her upper lip curled slightly into a snarling smile.  
  
The sheets had tangled around them, pressing them only more firmly together, as she ground her hips against his own. He attempted to find the hem of the nightshirt she still wore, but with quick impatience merely tore it from her, straight down the center. He heard Eliana’s beginning noise of complaint cut short into a gasp as he took a breast into his mouth: his voracious movements no doubt leaving bruises on her moonsilk flesh, though her moans took over any thought of reducing his vigor. She was mewling for him now as she began pawing at his breeches blindly, but he grasped her hands and held them over her head; the sight of her struggling to free herself, to pull him back to her, the unmitigated lust in her fierce eyes—it was actually painful how… _stirring_ he found her.

 He couldn’t resist anymore, and managed to keep hold of her wrists in one hand while urgently sliding out of his leggings. She groaned with anticipation, and then a gasp, as he slipped the fingers of his free hand up her thigh. She was not merely wet: she had begun to drench the bedding under her, pulling from Solas a low groan. He released her wrists and lowered his body towards her own, not yet entering her, despite her now clawing at him desperately; instead he grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. And when she did, he thrust himself inside of her while simultaneously kissing her now-agape mouth. She clung to him as he rolled his hips into hers over and over, unable to keep himself from driving into her harder than he probably should have—but she lifted her body with enthusiasm to meet his every lunge, his name chanted in a hoarse whisper from her lips like sanctification.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling his lips back to hers as she climaxed, whimpering into his mouth, and he followed her over the edge—surprised at the realization he had been so close. He began to shift to lay beside her, but she held him close. 

“Sathan, ma’ Nas, Melena i em sa’sahl?” She barely breathed the words, but there was the faintest sadness in them.

“Sastrahn matha ma, da’len.”  


_Anything I can. For now, while I still can._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Vhenan:** (my) Heart  
>  **Da’hale:** Little fox  
>  **Ma nuvenin:** As you wish/like  
>  **Ma’ lath:** My love  
>  **Minos san:** Is this okay  
>  **Then'ara'sal'inast:** Characteristic of the intense feeling of contentment  & comfort felt spending time with a loved one/beloved friend  
>  **Telahna mar vanadirth:** Hush your chatter/meaningless talk  
>  **Sathan:** Please  
>  **Ma’ Nas:** My soul, my heart  
>  **Melena i em sa’sahl:** Wait with me a moment  
>  **Sastrahn matha ma:** Anything you require  
>  **Da’len:** Little One


	56. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana continues to grieve and it's affect  
> on her health and relationships reaches  
> a tipping point for Laleal and Solas.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **I AM SOOOOO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT!!!**  
>  I was really depressed for a while, and  
> then I'm still fighting writer's-block,  
> and then life occasionally happens to me....
> 
> Anyway, that's not an excuse.  
> And while this chapter isn't super exciting  
> and is a bit all-over-the-place, it's almost  
> long AND I've already started the next one.
> 
> SO, PROGRESS!! I AM BACK!!  
> I really am so sorry!  
> MUAH <3 ily!!!

  
The trip back to Skyhold did not see Eliana more like herself, as everyone had obviously hoped: she was pushing forward, making plans for the Inquisition. Corypheus’s forces had been weakened significantly thanks to Cullen and Leliana’s never-ending work while they had been away. Eliana had been training every night at camp, dragging in whoever would teach her some new way to defend or attack, with or without her magic.  
  
Everyone took his or her turn: Bull taught her how to use her low center of gravity throw her weight into an opponent, effectively flipping them over her body and knocking the air from their lungs; Sera taught her how to best dodge or knock arrows from the air, either by spinning her staff or keeping an eye out for random flying objects; Varric and Cole taught her to use her magic to increase her ability to move stealthily and unheard; and Dorian and Vivienne finally enforced more frequent and channeled bursts of magic by using her staff as more than just a blunt object. Solas had been alone in remaining unasked for assistance.  
  
“She needs you to help her _cool down_ , Chuckles,” Varric joked once, but from the set of Solas’s jaw, he did not find it amusing.  
 

She had taken first watch for the night: having been standing marginally away from camp for the entirety of it, looking out towards the moonlit Frostbacks far but finally visible, in the distance as the cold air whipped her curls around her face. She was holding the pendant against her sweating palm tightly, feeling it hum slightly with its old, strangely familiar magic. Solas had been spending a lot of time healing her cuts and bruises ( _Okay, perhaps also a broken rib or two_ ) and she still shared a tent with him—curling against him while she slept—but she had a sense everything was about to change.  
  
Which is why she had withdrawn from him slightly. Everyone believed it was due to the death of Galifalon, or perhaps the company of Laleal (who had promised to meet them at Skyhold)…. But it was the perception that he was about to leave—as if his muscles were always tensed, ready to take flight—that truly caused her to withdraw from him. She wore the Ametrine pendant he had given her, though, every day without fail; wrapping her long, thin fingers around it in any moment of doubt…like now.  


“Vhenan,” His voice came suddenly out of the dark—low and warm, like honeyed cream—yet, she was still not at all surprised that he had appeared.

“Lathun’em,” Her words came out almost a sigh, and though she didn’t turn to face him, his body heat was soon felt radiating through the worn tunic covering her back.

“How are you doing, ma’ Halevune?” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned back into him reflexively: the most natural of gestures.

“I’m well, thank you,” She only hesitated slightly, knowing he wasn’t making small talk, “I’m still…struggling. But every day is a little easier.” He nodded into her hair, understanding; his breath warming her neck as it trapped within her hair.  
  
“Sila, banal'halam. You will endure,” She heard the proud, faintly saddened smile in his voice then, “You always do. You are one of the most strong persons I have ever come to know.”  
  
  
She smiled sadly to herself as she leaned even more confidently against him and he gently tightened his embrace; standing for a long moment in silence as they gazed out on the almost-painted appearance of the landscape, swaying slightly in an almost-dance. The moon hung high—just out of reach of the silvery, snow-capped peaks of the deep indigo mountains—and the terrain around them was brushed every shade of aubergine and deep sapphire, with the occasional sterling glint of the moon on a pale stream. 

“Deshanna gave me Gal’s bow,” She mused aloud, absentmindedly, “I’m a terrible archer, it’s not meant to mounted on a wall, and I’m loathe to give it to Sera—not because she would misuse it or anything—”  
  
“But it was his. I understand, da’len,” He kissed the top of her head, comfortingly, “May I see it? We may be able to find another use for it, yet.”  


“Of course, it’s in the carved trunk they sent back with us,” Her tone was off-hand and distracted, and her words were slightly slurred: she hadn’t slept well in weeks.

“Sura, Halesta,” Solas had slipped his hand into the glowing fist clenching the sleeve hem of her tunic, loosening her fingers just long enough to tighten again over his own long digits; he gently led her back in the direction of camp, nodding pointedly to a scout standing watch at the edge of the canvas city. 

Eliana allowed him to lead her into their tent, and stood complacent as Solas slowly undressed her: lifting the tunic over her head, unlacing her breeches, and sliding off her boots, before scooping her up and carrying her to their bedroll. He lied her down over himself with her legs across his body and head on his chest, smoothing her tousled ringlets. She thought she heard his voice coo smoothly in Elvhen, but before she could ask, she slipped into dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Solas had to cast Eliana into sleep with magic for the rest of their return to Skyhold. He was hopeful that now that she was back in her fortress ( _When had Tarasyl'an Te'las become hers?)_ , spells would no longer be necessary. He looked at her then as she, alone but for Blackwall, remained at the stables, grooming Da’assan; Eliana _had_ appeared healthier since he had been “assisting” her rest, but she was still losing weight, struggling to pay attention, becoming irritable over the smallest things.  


“She is hurting herself with her pain,” Cole’s familiar monotone voice appeared at his side, perched on the stone wall bordering the foot of the stairs where Solas stood.

“Yes,” The Apostate pursed his lips in concern. If she carried on this way, the Inquisitor would be dead from starvation before Solas could reclaim his Orb from Corypheus.

“Should I make her forget?” The Spirit offered, meaning well, but Solas met Cole’s eye, shaking his head sternly. 

“Certainly not,” He looked back at Eliana, watching her lips move as she spoke words to her horse, though he was too far from her to hear.  


“Maybe he should. Can you make her forget she ever had a brother?” Laleal startled him, appearing crouched on the other side of the wall, picking at some of the sparse grass at her feet. 

She and her mate had arrived two days before the Inquisition, and Solas had seen the bronzed elf watch Eliana with unease before greeting her with a smile upon dismount only hours earlier.  


“No, I can’t make it work like that,” Cole sighed, eyes wide as he shook his head. 

“Too bad. But it’s probably for the best,” Laleal stood and patted the Spirit on the top of the head, nudging his hat even further down over his face, before turning to Solas.  


“So. What are we going to do?” Solas met her amber eyes, surprised at the determination he found there. 

“I do not know,” He looked at Lal searchingly, “But we are going to have to do something.” She broke the stare first, and jerked her chin up slightly to indicate Solas should take notice of something.  
  
He turned his chin to see Blackwall approaching, giving them a polite nod as he moved past Solas up the stairs, and his voice lowered so he would be heard only by the three of them.

  
“Inquisitor doesn’t like you three sittin’ over here, talkin’ ‘bout her,” The warrior barely moved his lips, and Solas had looked over to see why: Eliana was not far behind. 

Cole had disappeared at some point, but Laleal and Solas continued to stand there, looking guilty. Eliana’s stride grew more languid as she approached, an exaggerated swagger of authoritative monitory, and she crossed her arms as she approached, eyebrows raised. Solas found himself surprised: she was… _intimidating_ , even as she was smaller and less assuming than he had ever seen her.

“So, what’s the plan, you two?” She smiled brightly, but Solas saw the danger hiding just beneath it, “How’re you going to ‘fix’ me?” 

“Watch it,” Laleal stunned Solas again, with her warningly low, cutting tone and dark citrine eyes meeting Eliana’s with an unexpected sharpness, “Not everything is about you, ‘ _Inquisitor’_.”  


They shared a look too brief for the Apostate to cognize before breaking their staring contest, and the Crafter excused herself with an artificial smile and exaggerated bow. Eliana and Solas watched Lal saunter off with deliberate hauteur, and when Solas met her gaze, Elie’s eyes were cold and her expression hard. He maintained his aloof, heavy-lidded expression, and tightened the grasp of his hands behind his back, straightening his shoulders.

“I don’t need help.”

“You have yet to make that believable, Vhenan.”  
  
He managed to turn on his heel and ascend the stairs before she could reply, catching only a quiet, venomous hiss as every step took him farther away from her.  
  
  
  
She avoided him for the rest of the day, which, honestly, he had expected. It wasn’t until very late—even Varric had long since gone to bed—that he she came to him. She, as usual, didn’t make a single noise until the wooden ladder of the scaffolding creaked under her weight. He was sitting, making a vague sketch of the image soon to be on the blank wall in front of him. Neither of them spoke as she settled herself into place: knee-bent legs on either side of him, face turned with one feather-light cheek rested against his back. He knew she was listening for his heartbeat, as, once she found its rhythm, the pattern of her breathing consciously matched it. He continued to sketch, as if ignoring her, and after a moment heard a quiet huff of impatience.

“Is there something you need, Vhenan?” He kept his voice stoic, not pausing in his sketch. 

“Some attention would be nice,” She murmured, pouting, into the material of his shirt.  
 

“Pardon me,” He stopped a moment, holding stock-still, “But my attention is not for you to command and dismiss as suits you—unless, this is an Inquisition matter?”  


She paused slightly, hesitating. 

“No. Ir abelas, Hahren,” She stood and—but for the creaking ladder—left as silently as she had arrived.  
 

He sighed to himself and shook his head. He was frustrated with Eliana’s behavior ( _Creators forbid anyone show any concern for her._ ) And yet, his frustration had allowed him the willpower to show some distance from her: a realization that came over him as both a sharp ache and a breath of relief. He felt as if he had, with just a few words, once again gained control over the relationship. He had been so easily swept away by his affection, her strong will, her pain, by her _ever_ resolute focus….He had to realistically acknowledge that he had been apart from himself for longer than he cared to admit.  


_Well, at least perhaps she will not so easily sway my will again._  
  


* * *

Curled up on Vivienne’s settee the next morning, Eliana watched disinterestedly as Dorian and the First Enchanter compared textiles swatches for something—she had been pouting, not paying attention. Dorian drew her attention back at the consciousness of a comment she had made upon first finding him here.  


“ _Sahrnia_ , my lamb? We’ve only just returned home _yesterday_!” He called over his shoulder, sounding half-heartedly indignant at the mention of travel, “No, no, my dear Madame, the Great Bear hide _would_ suit her complexion, but it’s too bright, she won’t wear it….” 

“—The Craggy skin will just wash her out, darling!”  


“Yes, I know, but when I gave Cullen the smugglers’ notes we found in the Emerald Graves—”

“—What about that Imbued Tusket hide?”  
 

“He said there’s a major Red Lyrium quarry there that might have some useful information on Corypheus’s inner circle—” 

“Oh, yes, that will do nicely! Good eye, Madame—”  


“But his people haven’t been successful in clearing it out,” Eliana droned on despite their seeming lack of attention, while resting her chin on her hands atop the seat back.   


“Thank you, my dear. Elie, darling,” Vivienne nodded sweetly to Dorian before turning her chin, managing to make even a simple gesture seem regal, “Rest two days, and then go do what you need to. I know how difficult it can be to keep one’s focus clear when the mind and body are idle.”

Eliana met the Enchanter’s eyes knowingly, and shared a brief look—not of grief or pity—but warmth and understanding. Duke Bastian had been as unsavable to Madame De Fer as Gal had been for Elie.  
  
  
“Well,” Dorian sighed dramatically before plopping himself unceremoniously beside her, playfully leaning his shoulders on her with faux exhaustion, “I suppose it’s just as well that we just had a warmer coat finished for you, then. You’ll be needing it.” 

She gave him a small smile and kissed his cheek, standing as soon as he eased his weight off of her. 

“Well, then I’m off to let Cullen know. And the others, too, I suppose,” Eliana took the two steps to Vivienne, gently placing her hands on the Enchantress’ upper arms and lifting herself on tiptoe to kiss both of the towering woman’s sculpted cheekbones.

“If you don’t mind, darling, I’d prefer to stay here,” Vivienne cooed as she, in a rare moment of affection, returned the gesture.

“As you wish, Viv,” Eliana used the loathsome nickname playfully, winking amiably as she turned to leave, and quietly chuckling to herself at the Enchantress’ sigh at her back.  
  
 

She made her round of the gang, asking who was in…but, as she approached the door to the Rotunda, she found herself hesitating slightly. To her surprise (and relief), she found the door open and room vacant, though there was a still-steaming cup of tea on the desk, a few drops of which stained the papers closer to Solas’s chair.

_Perfect. I’ll just leave a note._  


She scribbled out the need-to-know quickly, tartly addressing him in the Formal, but found herself hesitating at her own signature. “Inquisitor” was _too_ cold, “Vhenan” too forgiving (or desperate), and “Eliana” didn’t seem warm _enough_. She wasn’t trying to drive him away….She signed the note and sighed, walking out of the room, feeling somehow defeated.

_He decides where we stand from here, I guess._

 

* * *

 

 

> _Solas—_
> 
> _Commander Cullen has requested my attention in Emprise du Lion to gather information about Corypheus’s companions and clear out a Red Lyrium mine. If you care to join us, we leave in two days at dawn._
> 
> _—Elie  
>  _

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Lathun’em: Beloved  
> Ma’ Halevune: My Moonfox  
> Sila: Remember  
> Banal'halam*: “Nothing truly ends.”  
> Da’len: Little one  
> Sura: Come  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry, My apologies  
> Hahren: Elder
> 
> *A word without true English translation. Meaning the concept of souls and memories travelling onwards throughout history within the minds and hearts of loved ones; thus meaning that everything—in a small way—is immortal. Buildings will remain, clues will remain of lost cultures, deceased loved ones live onward in our memories. 
> 
>  
> 
> ********************************  
> I hope it was worth the wait!  
> I swear I will try to refrain from such a  
> long, unannounced hiatus again!
> 
>  
> 
> **I love you all! xoxo <3**


	57. Power-Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas seems to know he has regained  
> control of the "relationship reins",  
> and proceeds to thoroughly press  
> Eliana's buttons...just for funsies.
> 
>  
> 
> It's a pretty short little chapter, but  
> you'll thank me for the build-up later.  
> ...I hope, anyway.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **As always:**  
>  **Thank you SO MUCH for reading**  
>  **and having patience with me!!**  
>  **You have no idea how much it means.**  
>  **Like, seriously...you give me motivation**  
>  **to pull myself out of my "depress-isodes".**  
>  **I love you all. <3 xoxoxo**

__  
_Fendhis, a note? Da'len, I swear, sometimes you—just—Ugh…._  
  
Solas was the first one out in the pre-dawn shadow, saddling and packing Fenvir in terse little movements, betraying his irritability. He had only just found the note last night—it having been inadvertently stuffed under another paper—and then the whole matter of Eliana’s sheepishness whenever near him; leaving the past two days without a single word passing between them.  
  
“Did he bite you or something?” Solas’s eyes darted up, not amused, at the sleepy drawl of Laleal’s needling, seeing her sluggishly raise her bags up to her shoulder as she guided her mount out of the stall.

“No,” He paused, closing his eyes and slowly exhaling as he calmed himself, “You are right, though. I have been unfairly taking out my irritation on him.”  
  
“I was surprised to see you out here,” Lal nodded understandingly, “Hal said you hadn’t spoken to her, so she didn't think you were coming.”

“She did not _ask_ , she left a _note_ ,” Solas heard the annoyance in his voice, but didn’t bother to hide it, “Which I only discovered _last night_.”  
  
“Ahh, yep….” Laleal stopped her movements and gave a soft, stale chuckle, meeting his eyes with the expression of understanding that can only be shared by two people who have loved the same woman. After a long pause, she chuckled again.  
   
“Halie doesn’t live by a status mindset. There’s no ‘alpha-beta’ to her,” Lal gave him a brief, knowing look before turning back to her horse, “Hals has always lived outside that. And yet, she’s in that struggle with you, somehow. I admire your patience with her, though.”  
  
“It is, at once, both effortless and very, very tiresome,” He admitted with a sigh, treating Fenvir to a sugar lump, “As contradictory as that sounds.” 

“I know precisely what you mean,” Laleal’s voice was lower, nodding without raising her eyes and letting the subject drop—as they both became aware of of the very topic of discussion approaching, and appearing unusually pallid.

  
“On'dhea,” Eliana barely breathed the word, her voice all but a whisper as she smiled nervously at them both.  
   
“On'dhea, Vhenan,” Casual and effortless, Solas replied first, offering her a nod as he watched the tension in her shoulders relaxed, ever so slightly.

“Morning, love!” Laleal's voice followed, a languid chirp, leaning over to place a peck on Elie’s cheek with a grin.   
  
Solas returned to Fenvir, but watched Eliana out of the corner of his eye. Her usual composed demeanor had been replaced with a sort of fragility. She moved more slowly than usual, as if unsure of herself, and, as she readied the horse, was humming to Da’assan almost inaudibly—instead of speaking Elvhen. After watching her struggle with the saddle buckles for a moment, he walked over.

“Are you feeling unwell, Lathuna’em?” He gently moved her hands away and fastened the buckles. 

“Ma serannas, Vhenan,” muttering, she appeared to flush slightly as she ducked her head and looked at her hands, “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”  
  
Solas straightened to his full height and turned; grasping her shoulders gently before lifting her chin with a finger, making her meet his eyes. Her long, dark lashes were parted into little points—the way he had only seen them after they had been teary—and her irises were a deeper plum than the usual dusky amethyst. He was unnerved by the way she held herself so stiffly, so sheepishly; trembling in his grasp, like an animal expecting to be beaten. He carefully maintained a gentle expression, though he felt the slow coiling of dread begin in his stomach.

“Halesta, _ahn elasa nua ma min'or_?” His voice was low and calm, but heavy with concern, “You have been crying, and you flinched when I touched you.”  
  
“It was just a bad dream, Hahren,” Shrugging as she pulled away, Eliana shook her head, holding his gaze with a tight-lipped smile, “Sometimes the emotions are hard to shake afterwards—as _you_ know all too well, I’m sure.”

“Ah, I see,” he allowed her half-truth to pass with only the faintest of doubt in his tone, sensing her own uncertainty, “Ir abelas erathe’telam, Vhenan.” 

Solas offered his hand, palm up, and Elie managed only a heartbeat’s hesitation before placing her own hand on top. He slowly and deliberately pulled her close, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead and releasing her, chuckling slightly at her wide-eyed bewilderment by the tender gesture.  
   
“I missed you,” The words seemed to fall from her mouth without her permission as he had begun to turn away, leaving her expression flustered and embarrassed. As he glanced back over his shoulder, the Apostate caught sight of the blush spreading over her ears.  
  
            _Ma’ fanor da’hale…. I miss you, always._  
   
“I, as well,” Solas repressed the smirk tugging threateningly at the corner of his lips when Eliana’s nose wrinkled in response to his aloof riposte—just as Cassandra, Iron Bull, Dorian, and Varric arrived together, in time to distract her. Catching the shimmering green wisps that announced Cole’s arrival in his periphery, Solas returned to his mount with the smug warmth of feeling the sense of control resting once more in his hands.  
  


* * *

  
After another week on horseback and camping with such a small party, Eliana saw her old self slowly returning. Laughing easily at Varric’s wisecracks and stories, teasing Cass after catching her reading Swords  & Shields, making daisy-chain crowns with Cole for Bull, and refereeing discussions regarding the finer points of Dalish-versus-Human clothing between Laleal and Dorian—she felt the weight of her grief settle more tolerably, as more of her personality re-emerged from underneath.

 The strange tension between Solas and herself was still palpable—a constant undercurrent throughout the days—though the old issue of sharing a tent with him had initially been avoided, leaving Elie snuggled beside a sleep-talking Lal. That was, until Cassandra refused to share a tent with Varric for two more nights, and Cole reminded everyone that he really didn’t require sleep. After a day’s ride of listening to the incessant arguing of everyone except Eliana and himself, Solas nonchalantly—and without the least subtlety—called her out…much to her chagrin.  
  
  
“Inquisitor, have you finally bored sharing a tent with me?” He had found a lull in the discord and asked loud enough to be heard by the entirety of the company.  
  
Slowly and in-unison, her friends turned their heads to look at her, each staring with the same combination of scandal and amusement. Elie was wide-eyed in disbelief, turning in her saddle to look deadpan at the Apostate: his face infuriatingly innocent. For the briefest moment, she was too astounded by his gall to think of a reply. 

            _What. In. Anbanal. Did he just—?_  
  
“Not at all, Hahren,” she found her tongue, “I was actually wondering the same of you.” 

            _I can play dumb too, Wolf! Not that anyone is falling for this shite…._  
   
“Well, it would certainly offer our friends more convenience,” Solas remained wholly impassive, though she didn’t miss the fleeting wolfish glint in his eye, “Though, if you find aversion to—”  
  
“Of course not, Solas,” Eliana tried to match his unaffected manner, waving a hand airily and rolling her eyes at him, “You’re right, I’ve been thoughtless. Varric, dearest, the spare tent is yours…. Unless Cass and Lalsie have any objections to sharing?”

“Not at all—” “Fine by me—” The two women glanced at each other as they babbled their consent, joined by the rest (except, of course, Cole) in a chorus of gratitude; each face a poorly attempted mask of obliviousness, cracked with knowing glances and stifled simpers.  
  


They rode on in silence for a while after, but had fallen back to their usual discussions and bickering by the time the band of misfits stopped to make camp. After enkindling and preparing the fire for dinner, Varric volunteered to accompany Laleal off into the meager, frost-covered woods to hunt dinner, while the rest finished situating. Bull dragged a fallen tree trunk close to the fire and abutting a low, flat boulder that blocked some of the wind, as Cass, Eliana, Dorian, and Solas each raised a tent. 

Though they were in a vale, the wind was cold and strong, cutting through Elie’s thick outerwear and right to her core. She found her numbed fingers fumbling unsuccessfully with the last few ties; letting out a snarl of frustration as her joints locked up painfully, foiling her attempted knots.  


“Allow me, da’len,” Solas had appeared at her side, ( _No doubt having a good chuckle while he watched my incompetence—)_ making quick work of the remaining secures as Elie glared at his back. 

“Da'laven,” he ordered, turning back to face her and pointedly ignoring her glower as she lifted her hands for him; immediately feeling his Magic pressing gentle heat into her skin and the following tingle of blood returning to her fingertips. 

“Thank you,” she offered monotonously when he released her hands, giving her a polite smile in response to her raised brow.  
  
“I am pleased to be of assistance,” He was still pretending innocence, but Dorian and Cass had already moved to sit close to the fire and Eliana took the opportunity.

“What are you playing at, Solas?” She didn’t intend to speak with such venom, but her irritation with his charade earlier finally had a chance to arise.

“Playing?” He cocked a brow of his own, but the tightening at the corners of his mouth—almost imperceptible—betrayed his amusement before his lips parted slightly. ( _Distracting—)_  
  
“The show you put on earlier?” Managing to drag her eyes upward, away from his lips, to better stare daggers into his ( _Also distracting—)_ sea-storm gaze, “Not exactly in character today, are we, Hahren?”

“I was simply attempting to solve two quandaries at once,” He was so matter-of-fact, shrugging, as though it had been the obvious course of action. 

“The sleeping arrangements and…? What?” Tossing her head incredulously, in the way she often did when Solas was being vague and evasive, and causing a flicker of amusement to cross his face.  
  
“To answer the question of whether or not you have become disinterested in sharing a tent with me,” His brow smoothed and his face returned (mostly) to his usual careful composure, “Which you have answered. Both questions laid to rest successfully.”  
  
Bowing slightly, he didn’t wait for her answer before turning and walking—with astonishing ease—into the wind, to the circle of scant warmth. Elie grumbled under her breath and followed after; shivering so hard that her jaw shuddered, her teeth clicking together loudly enough to earn a quip from Dorian when she neared the fire.

  
“Shut up and hold me,” she barely chattered out as she climbed onto his lap, adoringly embraced by the Tevene’s fur-caped arms with a laugh.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fendhis: Common curse (lit. Wolf cock)  
> Da’len: Little One  
> On'dhea: Good morning  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Lathuna’em: Beloved  
> Ma serannas: My thanks, thank you  
> Ahn elasa nua ma min'or: What could be able to trouble you like this  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ir abelas na erathe’telam: I am sorry (regarding) your nightmare (lit. dream-bad)  
> Ma’ fanor da’hale: My precious little fox  
> Anbanal: Hell, the Void, (lit. place of nothing)  
> Da'laven: Hands
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **THANK YOU AGAIN, BABIES!!!**  
>  **ALL MY LOVE!!**


	58. Heart's Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****SMUT WARNING!! NSFW.****
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it's so short, but I thought  
> we really needed some Solas time.  
> Plus, it's about 60% fluff/40% pure smut trash—  
> And _CREATORS_ , did we need the smut, right?
> 
>  
> 
> Thank all of you SO MUCH for reading!  
> Feel free to hate this chapter: I wrote  
> it whilst delirious due to sleeplessness,  
> so it probably makes zero sense and,  
> if possible, is worse than usual. 
> 
>  
> 
> I love you all.  
> I'm gonna go take a nap.  
> I beg your forgiveness.  
> Muah! <3 xoxox

  
Solas had inched his fingers across the space between them, pressing Magic into the other bedroll in an attempt to heat Halesta’s tiny, shivering body as it lie curled up and facing away from him. Unbeknownst to her, he had done the same thing for the past two nights, only succeeding in their mutual exhaustion: hers as a result of shaking so violently throughout the night, and his own by sleeplessly attempting to keep the Inquisitor from freezing to death.

She had been amicable—allowing him to kiss her goodnight, kissing him back, and offering a whispered “Erathe siu, Vhenan,”—yet had made a point to keep her bedroll against the tent wall, sleeping as far from him as possible. He sensed her hesitance in the effort it took for her to turn away, to refrain from reaching out to him, but he didn’t believe it was entirely due to his lack of affection. With Eliana, it seemed as soon as he had found an answer to one question, he was presented with a new and more cryptic one—And while Solas appreciated a challenging puzzle, he did not like the idea that it would be impossible to ever truly predict her.

He refocused his mind and watched her: breathing steadily, despite her trembling, and white-gold curls spilling across the side of her face and neck. He knew it was too late: he loved her. She was everything he wanted—everything he thought this world had lost…and everything he could not have. He sighed lightly, resisting the urge to yawn, and started when Elie stirred.

“S—olas..?” Her whisper was hoarse, slurring with sleep; rubbing her eyes, she turned, placing a hand atop the one he had in her bedroll as she sat up, “What’re you doin’?”

“Ir abelas, Vhenan, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Attempting to keep his voice from betraying his discomfiture, he allowed Eliana to move her hand before he withdrew his own, “I was endeavoring to heat your bedroll so you might stop quaking.”  
  
“Ma’ seran’as, Hahren,” In the dim green glow of her mark, Solas could make out the tranced haze of fatigue in her gaze, “But can you jus’ hold me for a while ‘nstead?” He felt a catch in his throat at the visage of her childlike innocence, rubbing one delicate eyelid half-heartedly.  
   
             _Emma da’halevune, ma’ vhenan'ara…._  
  
“Ma nuvenin,” Composedly acquiescing, he gently dragged her bedroll, with her small body still wrapped inside, to overlap his own.

Eliana lied back down and waited with closed eyes, allowing him to pull her toward his body as he raised his blanket, she immediately curled against him. His arms enveloped her tightly, her shape fit snugly against his own; like the rejoining of two pieces that had been separated, now together once more as a whole. Elie’s shivers and consciousness both slipped away in mere moments, and the sound of her calm, steady breath finally lulled Solas to sleep, he slipped across the Veil.

  
He woke to warm air on his face, smelling of Elfroot and, more faintly, lilac, cedar, and rosewater, and the warmth of tangled limbs. Opening his eyes, he was briefly thrown to find Halesta’s face much closer to his than he had anticipated. It was pre-dawn still, but light enough to make out her features: pale Moonsilk skin stretched over the soft, rounded angles of her face; dark lashes kissing the pale blue crescents beneath them. Her lips slightly parted and with the faintest sheen of moisture, as if only just wetted. Her hair had been gathered under her face like a pillow—though a single strand followed the contours of her cheek before falling down into a curl at the corner of her mouth—making visible the rare sight of the scars on her neck.

“Hahren, I can feel your eyes on my face,” Elie’s voice was a sudden whisper above the white noise of the wind outside, speaking without opening her eyes, “Would you like me to move back to my side of the tent?”  
  
He didn’t answer—her question genuine and without contempt—but, stirred by the sight of her lips’ movement and the heated pressure of her body against to his, Solas was abruptly kissing her. She didn’t quite hesitate, but sharply inhaled through her nose as she seemed to press, not merely her mouth, but the entire length of herself more determinedly to him. His hands were suddenly in her hair, roughly pulling her head back, and she bared her teeth in a silent hiss as he kissed and nipped his way down her neck.

Neither could be sure who had begun grinding their hips against the other’s leg—it felt simultaneous—but they found themselves urgently tearing at each other’s already-sparse clothing. Burning flesh felt the shock of cold air before skin was on skin, desperate and clawing, and Solas could no longer bear to resist sliding inside her. Eliana gasped, falling limply onto her back with eyes wide as he rolled easily atop her, succeeding to settle fully inside her. He could feel her slowly stretching, attempting to readapt to his cock ( _Has it really been so long?)—_ but he did not wait until she was comfortable before thrusting again. He watched carefully as her eyes shifted from the blank, wide expression of shock, to a sultry, feral stare—urging him into a forceful, vigorous rhythm.

He might have been concerned he was hurting her, if her eyes hadn’t been so challenging—not once breaking their gaze—biting into her bottom lip to stifle her moans until a small droplet of blood ran down to her chin. Solas grasped the back of Elie’s neck and, running his tongue up from her chin to suck at her lip, slid his other arm beneath her as her back arched; a throaty moan escaping her as Solas lifted her upright onto his lap.  
  
“ _Solas—”_

He slid his hand down, shifting her so he raised her off of the pallet entirely, his fingernails digging sharply into her ass while the other hand still cradled the back of her neck. She was only allowed the briefest moment to look into his face—he didn’t bother to mask the wild, unrestrained gleam in his eyes—before using her own weight to fully impale her, swallowing the raspy mewl he had driven out of her. In a mere few thrusts, Eliana began to reach her crest, but he held himself back; even as her body began to spasm and her pussy clenched tightly around his cock, making his continued movement notably more difficult. He managed to free his lips from hers, clasping his hand over her mouth to dampen the whimpers she gave wantonly, and growled into her ear.

“Rosa'da'din sul ma’, Halesta…. Vin, on, emm’asha.”

His low purr was rewarded as her body rolled into another, even more intense peak; her seizing too overwhelming for him to resist, and his climax followed close behind. He clung to her, their skin slick with a mixture of their perspiration, and his forehead rested on her clavicle as their chests both heaved, gasping dreadfully for air. He was surprised when she released him; her small, slippery form sliding easily out of his grasp as she stood. She didn’t meet his watchful gaze as she moved to her rucksack, grabbing some clothes that were already lightly dusted with dirt from the ride to Emprise, and dressing calmly but quickly. 

“Ma serannas, Hahren. For both—ah,” she spoke over her shoulder, still not looking his way, “— _that_ , and for the warmth. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Uncharacteristically professional and detached, her only telltale was the fleeting flicker of eyes back to his face as she ducked out of the tent. He could only stare blankly at the canvas flap closing behind her, uncertain of himself…and of her.  
  
             _Ma darem ma’nas, Da'mi…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Era’siuthe: Dream/sleep sweetly  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Emma da’halevune: My little moon-fox  
> Ma’ vhenan'ara: My heart's desire  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Rosa'da'din sul ma’: Cum/Orgasm for/on me  
> Vin, on, emm’asha: Yes, good, my little fox  
> Ma darem ma’nas, da'mi: You pierced my soul, Little Blade


	59. Elfsblood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no good summary for this chapter,  
> I'm sorry. You'll just have to read it, I guess ;)
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading,  
> and for your patience with me!  
> All my love <3 MUAH! xoxox
> 
> **I have added a portrait sketch of Laleal Lavellan Alhavenlan to the end of this chapter!!  
>  
> 
> **(p.s. I hope this is long enough  
> **  
>  to make up for the last one!!)  
>  **Also:** [My Tumblr](http://varriccallsme-foxlette.tumblr.com/) (if you're curious)
> 
>  
> 
>  

   
Eliana realized she had become so used to Solas’s being around, to seeing him almost every day, that she had almost stopping noticing his unique and ethereal exquisiteness. That morning, though, sitting across the dwindling fire, watching him pick at a biscuit as he read from a worn book—she saw him again as she had for the first time, and understood how he could still raise a fluttering in her stomach, a quickening in her pulse.

Those full, Cupid’s bow lips: slightly pouty, and almost hinting at a smile in the corners. The sharpness of his features often distracted from the solidity of the bridge of his nose; which, Elie decided, was partly the reason for how deeply set his eyes appeared. His lovely complexion, freckled and just barely ruddy—marred ( _if you can even call it that)_ only by the faded scar above his brow—highlighted the deep auburn of his eyebrows and lashes in the morning sun.

The hint of red in those lashes, she marked, letting her stare linger a moment too long, brought out the faint blue in his beautiful, tempest grey eyes…. Which she now realized stared back at her as he raised a single brow, sending her heart pounding loud enough for even him to hear. Eliana instinctively dropped her gaze and shoved the remainder of her own biscuit into her mouth, though she knew it was too late: Solas had caught her staring, and she had no idea for how long. She felt a nudge at her elbow, and before she had a moment to look up and acknowledge him, Dorian spoke.

“Let me get this straight, Solas,” Deliberately drawing the Apostate’s attention away from her, “You're an apostate—neither Dalish nor city elf—who lived alone in the woods studying spirits.”

“Is this _just now_ a problem for you?” Solas looked at the Tevene, lips pursed with both confusion and annoyance.

“No, no,” Dorian waved his spoon passively before dipping it back into his porridge, “You're a special and unique snowflake! Live the dream.”

Her Vhenan gave a huff of exasperation, snapping his book shut and standing, rising and walking back towards his tent—presumably to gather his things. Eliana looked up into the amused smirk of her most beloved friend.

“Thank you—”  
  
“Hush, Sweets. Next time,” He murmured, smirk shifting into a grin, “Just don’t get caught staring.”

“Noted,” Dryly, she sighed, following her Apostate’s lead and stood, dusting off her breeches before skulking off to the tent. Upon entering, she was surprised to find Cole sitting cross-legged in the corner while Solas packed his bedroll.

“They left for love, and then love lost them.” The Spirit-Boy stared blankly at the ground, brow furrowed in puzzlement, “More pain, more joy than anyone can bear, and yet they embrace it.”

Solas looked up over his shoulder at the sound of her entrance, locking his steely eyes to hers, and she remained where she stood, unmoving.

“How could they not?” He answered Cole without breaking their stare, sending a gentle chill down her spine.

 

The had set up camp not far from Sahrnia—only an hour’s ride, give or take—so it wasn’t long until they were treading up a steep mountain’s pass, one by one.

“Steady your mounts and watch your footing,” Cassandra called over her shoulder as her horse’s legs wavered slightly, “There's a lot of ice and snow.”

“I hope Laleal made it through this,” Speaking mostly to herself, Elie found herself worrying about her friend scouting ahead alone, “These mountains are the perfect place for an ambush.”

“Mountains. Cold. ‘Let's bring Dorian!’ Lovely idea,” Dorian’s sarcastic mumble was not meant to escape Elie’s attention.

“What better way to hear you complain, my tenderfoot?” She met his backwards glance with a wry grin.  
  
She heard Solas’s quiet chuckle immediately behind her, and fought the urge to turn and look at him, feeling the hair rise on the back of her neck.

**“** Great place to get crapped on by a bird,” Varric’s voice came from behind her, sounding almost more nervous than disgruntled, “Why does air even come in different temperatures?”

“It’s a little nippy,” Bull boomed from the back, resulting in a chorus of “Shh!!”

“You’re going to start an Avalanche, Tiny!”  
  
“A rock could roll for a long time here,” Cole added helpfully, looking around with wide, curious eyes, “How do they get so big?”

Reaching the top of the pass, they could see down into the bowl-shaped valley the twisting Elfsblood River (recalling the name drew a sneer from Elie), which appeared to have been frozen over for some time.

“Are we crossing the river?” She asked Cass, watching the Seeker purse her lips with concern.

“It would quicken our arrival,” Cassandra sighed, “Let us hope it is frozen solidly enough.”  
  
“Yes,” Dorian wrinkled his nose with sarcasm-masked dread, “Let’s.”

They all dismounted, grasping the reins of their mounts while Cole willingly walked out into the middle of the ice, stabbing at it a few times with his daggers and jumping up and down.

“Be careful, Kid!” Varric looked a nervous wreck, but Solas placed a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder in a rare show of comfort. 

“Do not worry, he is in no danger,” The sound of the Apostate’s reassuring murmur momentarily distracted Eliana; once again brought to mind fennec fur on bare skin, heavy cream stirred into hot chocolate.

“It is safe,” Cole returned to take his horse’s reins from Bull, and they began their slow, wary trek across the river. Approaching the middle, a small island was marked by a decrepit little wooden boat, frozen into the river.

“Boat's seen better days,” Bull was the first to remark as it came into view.

“That's... depressing. I'm not sure why.” Though it was spoken mostly to himself, Elie caught the tension in Dorian’s voice. As they got closer, Cole made clear the unsettling feeling resulting from the sight.

“‘ _Get to the boat, Get to the boat, they won't catch me on water, get to the boat’,”_ the Spirit Boy had stopped and stared a moment, before looking around to the rest of them, “She didn't get to the boat.”

Eliana felt herself drawn to it, though she anticipated what she would see. She could hear a couple of the others follow her as she came to stand near the frostbitten planks.

“There she is,” Cole whispered at Eliana’s side, staring down at a pale, frozen hand barely visible below the ice at his feet, “It was like going to sleep.”

“Sul din'anshiral, venem atisha.” She knelt, pressing her own hand to the ice as she barely breathed the words.

“Sahrnia wasn't prepared for this,” Cass sounded hoarse and grim, but also anxious—setting Eliana even more on edge. She felt a hand on her shoulder, glancing up into Solas’s woeful expression. 

“Gara, Vhenan,” His voice gentle but pointedly emotionless, “I would rather not linger here.”

She let him help her stand without slipping, and lead the rest of the party towards the shore. What appeared to be the ruins of a city were now visible not far from the edge of the river; the crumbling, charred skeletons of buildings seemed completely devoid of life.

“What a waste,” the Apostate murmured quietly, shaking his head.

“ _That’s_ Sahrnia? What happened?” Eliana was wide-eyed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“The War of the Lions halted the mining trade,” Cassandra’s expression hardened, “Sahrnia’s economy has essentially evaporated.”

_That doesn’t quite explain why it looks like the Temple after the explosion…_

She glanced over at Solas, who was already looking at her knowingly, grim-faced. They walked a little faster as they reached the snow-blanketed land, and lead their mounts through the gates. Now, Elie could see, the town _did_ still have a few citizens; milling around aimlessly, muttering to themselves, and staring blankly past the group as if they weren’t even there.

“This place gives me a headache,” Dorian groaned, not even bothering with subtlety.

“It kinda creeps me out,” Varric was grimacing, but did keep his voice low, “Anybody else vote that we never come here again?”

“Let’s just get through to the camp,” Elie urged, picking up her pace.  
  
_Something is seriously wrong here…. Best to just leave as soon as we can._

* * *

Reaching the camp on the outskirts of the opposite side of town, Solas could tell by the look on Laleal’s face that things were worse than expected. She and Scout Harding stood together watching their approach; Harding wore a weak, tentative smile.

“Inquisitor!” The Lieutenant sounded alarmingly relieved.

“Good to see you, Lace,” Eliana’s smile matched the Scout’s own, “No pleasant news, I take it?”

“Well, you saw what’s left of Sahrnia,” Harding gestured limply at the vestiges behind them, “The lucky ones got out before the river froze over.”

“And the rest?”  
  
“Hedged in by Fade Rifts and Red Templars,” Laleal crossed her arms, lips pursed with grim understanding.

“We’re the first friendly face they’ve seen in a long, long while,” The Scout attempted to widen her feeble smile.

“How did an entire river that size, freeze all at once?” Dorian interjected, looking chary.

“It got really cold, really quickly,” She shrugged.

“And Sahrnia relies on the river for food, trade,” Laleal gave Eliana a strange look Solas couldn’t understand, “—Everything, really.” 

“Hmm,” Elie pursed her lips, “What about the Red Templars?”  
  
“They’ve got outposts all throughout the hills,” Harding flinched apologetically, “Our scouts haven’t been able to get through; so there’s not much I can tell you.”  
  
“It probably has to do with the local stone quarry,” The bronze skinned Lal squinted fleetingly in thought.

“And—” the Lieutenant hesitated briefly, “A lot of the workers went missing after the Templars moved in.”  
  
“Fannn-tastic,” Eliana tilted her head to the sky and sneered slightly, her voice thick with acerbity, “Inquisitor Elie to save the day! —Again.”

“That’s why we love you!” Lace’s smile was genuine for a moment before faltering, “The Red Templars have been mounting frequent attacks, and our soldiers numbers have dwindled. Dramatically.”  
  
“The Templars want Emprise du Lion,” Laleal met Eliana’s gaze with emphasis, “—Bad.”

Solas watched as Eliana subtly rolled her eyes before pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She seemed to actually be in slight pain. 

“Alright, then. Let’s start with trying to talk to the townsfolk,” She sounded irksome and tired.  
  
With that, the small group dispersed to un-pack their horses, top of any poultices and tonics running low, and armor-up. Wordlessly, they tied up their mounts and grabbed their rucksacks and bedrolls, and Solas followed her to the tent she had chosen; he knew she saw him shadowing her, but she seemed amenable to his presence and made no remark. Inside the tent, she dropped her rucksack rather unceremoniously, and began impatiently removing her riding clothes as if she were alone.

“You seem to be a bit piqued, Vhenan,” He watched as she turned to face him, still tugging off her clothes, “Is something the matter?”

“Hnff,” Her shoulders wilted as she exhaled, her expression defeated as she stood in her smalls with her shirt around her wrists, “It’s just a headache, Hahren.”

“Have you had it all day?” He took a step forward; pressing his fingertips to her temples, keeping his expression composedly blank as he let his Magic sink into her skull.

“No,” She murmured, closing her eyes as she felt the healing tickle around her brain, “It only came on when we passed through the town. The pain went from dull to sharp rather suddenly.”

“Hmm,” He felt slightly unnerved at that, but he wasn’t sure why; when her eyes fluttered open again, he had wiped any trace of concern from his face, “On'el, da’halevune?”

“Y—yeah…” Elie hesitated slightly, looking searchingly at his face, “A bit. Thank you.” 

“Only a bit?” His voice came out lower and breathier than he intended.  
  
  
He watched her pupils dilate, her lips parted just slightly, and the pads of his fingers—still on her temples—felt her pulse pick up. He became aware of the heat radiating off of her body, and their faces were much closer together than he had realized. He didn’t think about it, he simply leaned down and kissed her.

Her body almost melted into him, returning the kiss with unchecked, raw emotion: want, need, passion, and—to Solas’s addled relief—love. The unexpected sentiment was enough to remind them they were no doubt being awaited; he gently pulled away, allowing her to regain her balance and composure. 

“Ma serannas, Vhenan,” He closed his eyes, softly bumping his forehead against hers, “I will go get a tonic for your head while you unpack.”  
  
She gave a swift glance of wariness, but despite herself, it was immediately replaced with a slow, easy curl at the corners of her mouth and the shine of a smile in her eyes. He found himself smiling back, and struggled to smooth it away as he walked out of the tent.  
 

* * *

  
“Come, lad. I have dried beans and radishes. It’s not much, but with last week’s salt pork, it makes a meal.”  
  
Mistress Poulin seemed only person in the town that seemed entirely lucid. Even the boy she had handed food to had barely managed a coherent, “ _Thank yew, Madem_.” She was also the only one still well-attired: her dress remained unstained or worn, while the few remaining citizens wore tattered and torn clothes in the bitter cold—some of which still recognizable as expensive garments, truly affordable for only the well-to-do.  
  
“Ah, the Inquisition!” The human female turned to address them, greeting them with pleasant warmth ( _as if she had been expecting us_ ) before passing by the Inquisitor; leading them through the open door to her small, though unmistakably decadent, Orlesian-style home.

“That was very generous of you,” Solas watched Eliana’s tense face as she smiled politely at the human, catching the barest hint of suspicion in her tone.  
  
“I do what I can,” Mistress Poulin shook her head sadly as she sighed, “After all, I’m partly to blame for all of this.”

Without even looking up at Eliana, who stood with crossed arms and raised a brow, the woman continued unsolicited.

“The Red Templars are here because I, fool that I am, sold them my family’s quarry. They’ve taken every worker—”She looked up at the Inquisitor, eyes wide with dismay, “We haven’t seen them in weeks. And it’s not enough! They keep coming and taking more people…and there is nothing I can do to stop them.”  
  
“Wait,” Eliana’s expression barely altered, but her voice dripped venom, “You _sold land_ to the Templars?”

“I didn’t know, I swear by Andraste’s pyre! They looked like knights, chevaliers—” Mistress Poulin played quite the mislead victim, “Such pretty speeches: saying they would reopen the quarry, bring employment and trade back to Sahrnia! We’d been struggling since the war began—How could I refuse?“

Poulin hesitated momentarily at Eliana’s dubious expression of distaste, nervously wringing her hands together.  
  
“It was good for a while. People went to work. They were paid,” She continued, hanging her head in shame, “Then they stopped coming home. After that, the Templars stopped pretending.”

“Explain ‘ _taking’_ people,” the Apostate understood his love’s squint of suspicion, the flare of her nostrils—Elie was aware this woman was avoiding the whole truth.  
  
“People just…disappear. First the quarry workers, then they took people from their homes” The woman sounded even more desperate, attempting to be convincing, “I don’t know why. I just prayed they would leave me and my family alone.” 

“Well, Mistress,” Eliana’s voice was more gentle, but she shot Solas a quick glance that he instantly recognized, “We hopefully can put a stop to all of this. Thank you for being so forthright.”  
  
“Maker bless you, Herald,” the woman looked slightly relieved, though still rather nervous.

As they exited Poulin’s house, Solas dipped his head slightly, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he leaned in towards Elie, and kept his voice low.  
  
“I have the notion, Vhenan, that you are not so convinced Mistress Poulin was quite as candid as you credited her,” He could not help the smirk that emerged at Eliana’s smug smile.

“And what impression did you receive of her, Hahren?” She kept her eyes straight ahead, moving towards what appeared to be an egress to the village. 

“She is certainly not quite the victim she plays,” Though she did not turn to look at him, he didn’t fail to notice her lavender eyes flash a slightly predatory look.  
 

            _The hunter has picked up a trail. Best of luck, Mistress; you will need it._

* * *

 

With Eliana and the rest of her companions, the Inquisition had made significant progress through the Templar’s smaller defensive camps and up the mountain towards Suledin Keep. They had, oddly enough, chosen an ancient Elvhen fortress as their base. When she had met Ser Michel de Chevin just outside Sahrnia, he claimed the Templars were holed up there with a Desire Demon: Imshael, whom Ser de Chevin asserted was “ _more cunning than anything I have encountered_ ”. 

After ambushing a handful of Red Templars early that morning, Inquisition Forces had taken over their camp, which was perched just outside of a small cave system. It was still a couple hours until dusk, and Cassandra, Laleal, and Scout Harding had all agreed that leaving the caves uninspected would leave the camp too vulnerable overnight; While the rest of the soldiers and scouts stayed back to defend the camp, Elie stated she would investigate the caves. So, naturally Solas, Varric, Bull, and Dorian insisted on joining her—“ _Not that you require protecting, my Dove, don’t be silly!_ ”  
  
They made absurdly quick work of two small Templar patrols, so when they came upon the third, Eliana decided to “ _let the boys_ _handle it”_ while she reconnoitered ahead. She could hear them calling her name as she continued on, following the caves curve back eastward at a light canter, enjoying the rush of brief solitude. They caught up with her just before the caves came to an end, berating her for her recklessness. Finally spilling back out into the light of early sunset, though, they stopped dead, falling silent.

Six Red Templars stood, weapons raised. Only a blink passed before the Templars ran at them, roaring some unintelligible and out-of-sync war cry. Elie scarcely managed to roll under the blade a Templar Shadow as he appeared out of thin air before her. He was quickly diverted by one of Varric’s arrows, allowing her to pop back to her feet…just in time to feel the ground rumble beneath them. She had slowly raised her eyes to see a Behemoth, sluggishly lumbering towards them across a short, flat boulder. 

            _Del’pala sua em…._

Looking behind her, she saw her friends struggling enough with the Templars they were already confronting. If she could manage to distract this thing until they had finished with the other enemies, they would all have a better chance of surviving. Taking a deep breath and remembering to cast a barrier over herself, she ran at the monster.

Her daggers charged with electricity and starting with quick little jabs, Elie dashed around the Behemoth, drawing its attention quickly away from the rest of the fighting. Roaring— _No, **screaming**_ —it lumbered after her as she danced away. She managed to get in a few good cracks before one of her blades snapped off, and she was forced to dive out of the way of the beast’s massive arm-turned-spike.  
  
But when the monster suddenly struck the ground where she had been, she found herself impaled as a barrier of Red Lyrium burst from the ground. An attempt to encircle and trap her, instead favored the Behemoth with his target on a spit through her abdomen, and she felt the blood immediately spew from her mouth. She noted a vague sound, a noise both indefinable and familiar—only to be drowned by the scream and painful vibrating of the approaching creature. Her vision tunneled, but she could see the beast lift its spike, raising it high as it prepared to finish her off.

She wasn’t quite sure how, but, despite the heat from the Red Lyrium seeming to be melting her organs, she felt the ice-cold tingle rush up from her toes to the tips of her outstretched hands; she watched the Magic leave her body and slam into the Behemoth—freezing it solid with a loud crack. She was no longer able to keep her eyes open as her head dropped, but she heard the voices ( _“Go, go to her!”)_ , the lightning strike, the crunching of metal on crumbling ice, and then….

“ _Halesta, hold on,”_ She knew that voice, “ _Stay with me, Vhenan—”_

_Vhenan. What a lovely sound…._

“ _Boss, brace yourself_ ,” She knew that voice too, “ _This is going to hurt_.”

_Everything hurts already—_

She let out a piercing scream—eyes snapped open wide, only to see silver flashes of pure excruciation—as she was suddenly and sharply wrenched up and laid flat on the ground. The blanket of snow was slowly changing from white to red: blood, she realized. She tried to speak, tried to ask whose blood was pooling around her, but no words came. As she weakly attempted to turn her head, her vision darkened around the edges. The last thing she saw was a face, panicked and imploring, with eyes like a storm at sea.

 

* * *

 

                                                                  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Sul din'anshiral, vena atisha: On the Journey to Death, find peace.  
> Gara: Come, Move onwards  
> On'el: Better  
> Da’halevune: Little Moon-fox  
> Ma serannas: My thanks, thank you  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Del’pala sua em: “Fuck me” -Rare curse, adopted & translated human expression (lit. wrong sex happen to me)


	60. A Small Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas makes a risky attempt to save Eliana's life,  
> Elie slips into the Fade and relives a few important memories,  
> and Laleal shares a warning and a very telling missive with Solas.
> 
>  
> 
> I hope the cliff-hanger hasn't been too torturous!  
> You have my eternal love and gratitude for reading  
> and for sticking with Eliana and Me through our  
> respective trials and tribulations.

“Someone needs to go get help.”

Solas heard his own voice, disturbingly calm and authoritative—but he didn’t take his panicked, searching eyes off of Eliana’s unconscious face as he cradled her head in his lap. He was already feeling weak, having used most of his mana to fight, and now he was desperately forcing any remaining strength to pull at the Fade: to press his Magic into her, trying to heal—to save—her fatally wounded body.  
  
“Don’t look at me,” Varric was audibly choking back tears, “Do I look like I can run fast enough?”

“I’m staying with Boss and Solas,” Bull’s voice was shaking slightly, but determined, “In case any more Templars show up.

“But, I—” Dorian’s voice cracked, but Solas cut him off, taking his gaze away from Elie for just long enough to look the Tevene in the eye earnestly.

“Dorian, you have to Fade-step back to camp. As fast as you can,” Solas maintained his unnervingly composed tone, “I know how much you love her, and right now, you are her only chance to live.”  


A single tear rolled down Dorian’s terrified face as he nodded. He handed his last two Lyrium potions to Varric, and then was gone, back through the cleared caves.  
  
The dwarf fumbled but finally managed to uncork one, handing it to Solas, who gulped it down quickly before returning his hand to Eliana’s stomach. The Apostate had first made sure no shards had broken off in her abdominal cavity—luckily, none had—before immediately tending to all torn or severed blood vessels in the hopes that it would lessen the amount entered into the bloodstream, as well as stop her bleeding. She had already lost a potentially terminal amount, but he couldn’t tell if her ashen pallor was due to the blood loss or the Red Lyrium already taking affect. And there was a pull he could feel…. 

            _It’s sucking her Mana from her—_  


“Is she…?” Varric barely whispered, his voice was hoarse and hopeless.

“Give me that other Lyrium potion.”  
  
Solas didn’t bother answering, but only reached his hand back towards the dwarf. With the vial uncorked, Solas hesitated a moment, and then—pleading silently _Mythal, Maker, **Anyone**_ —poured half of the potion directly into Eliana’s still-dehiscent wound, and there was the faintest of hissing sounds.

“What are you doing!—”  
  
“You’re killing her!—”

Ignoring them, he pressed both his hands to the gaping kerf, carefully but forcefully commanding his Magic into the injury and watching her moonsilk skin suture its cells back together beneath his palms. He couldn’t be sure how long he kept his hands on her, still healing, but also searching for a sensation, for a sign. He felt her pulse plummet—but as soon as Solas began to panic, it re-surged to a quickened- but much healthier and steadier pace. Then, though it did not increase, he could feel her Mana stop receding. He allowed himself to slump back, exhausted and nearly drained, but was careful not to jostle the Inquisitor’s head; which still lie in his lap, comatose.  
  
“Did it work?” Bull had more whined the words than spoke.

“I do not know. But her vital signs are improved, for now.”

Just then, the thunderous noise of Inquisition Soldiers, Mages, and Scouts—at least half of the camp—came running towards them, led by Dorian, Cassandra, and Laleal. 

            _Mythal, preserve her. Preserve ma’ Halesta…._

 

* * *

 

_Halesta slipped quietly through the camp, bare feet moving her from one sleeping man to the next without the faintest sound. Her hands were slick with blood, and by the time she reached the last man, her slices had become jagged, sloppy. This man, the leader of their little “Knife-ear Witch hunt”, he would die wide awake, choking and suffocating on his own blood as she dragged her dull blade across his ridged windpipe._

_Standing back, watching him stare up at her with horror, she felt no sense of shame, no satiated vengeance. She felt…nothing. Empty. She saw the recognition in the dying man’s eyes—the resemblance to the Elf Mage they had raped and slaughtered in cold blood. He gurgled, attempting to speak, to_ **ask** _, but only filling his lungs more quickly. She knelt by his side, staring into the dark eyes that the life was so quickly fading from._  
  
_“You believed a mere human could kill me?” She hissed at his wide-eyed fear, “Eliana La’aenoreaan cannot die, fool.”_

 _Stabbing the dagger into the ground beside him, hilt smeared with blood, Halesta was no more. She rose as a reincarnation: Eliana La’aenoreaan Lavellan._  


_She had begun to run after seeing the_ _wolf—the one from all of her dreams, back when…when…. She grasped at memories, but they escaped her, only recalling having seen the wolf. The one with six eyes that glowed in the moonlight, staring from afar as if it had been watching, judging all along. She ran and ran into the safety of the familiar woods. She tripped and fell to her knees, eyes landing on her own blood-soaked hands: and, before them, long and lovely bronzed feet, wrapped in traditional leather foot-wraps. Halesta raised her eyes to see Laleal standing before her, pain in the amber eyes, slowly crouching to place her hands upon Halesta’s shoulders._

_“How are you—”_

_“Felassan has sent me,” Laleal cut her off, lifting her into a sitting position, “He has heard word of your mother…. And of your actions in retribution for her.”_

_Halesta began to weep, but Lal lifted her chin sternly._

_“Hush. He has a mission for you,” Her friend’s voice was soothing, warm, but hesitant with knowledge unshared, “You must move against Fen’Harel—He has returned to free Esh'an ehn Silaimem.”_

_“What must I do?” Halesta found a strength in her own voice, smothering the endless questions she had for her friend.  
  
“You must go to the Shemlen Conclave in Haven, in the mountains curtaining Halamshiral,” Laleal instructed, “Go to Jader. One of us—we who stand against Fen’Harel—will meet you there and give you further instruction.”  
  
Halesta saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and once again saw the wolf. It was _ Him _: it was Fen’Harel. When she looked nervously back to Laleal, she saw her friend’s eyes filled with tears as she was pulled to her feet._  
  
_“Go now, Halesta,” Lal cried quietly, “Run. And nuva Fen'Harel tel'syla mar odhe.”_

  
_She was running again, hot tears streaking her face. It seemed everywhere she looked, she could see the Wolf waiting patiently, watching her. Her lungs were sharp with pain, lack of oxygen, and she again fumbled to the ground. It wasn’t long before Deshanna found her, curled up beneath a tree and covered in blood._

 _“Halesta, ahn ane nulemah?”_  


_She heard the words, but Deshanna’s mouth hadn’t moved. She was suddenly aware, though she didn’t know how, that Deshanna was not Deshanna._  
  
_“Very good, Halesta.”_

 _The voice from her Keeper’s lips was older, more raspy…._  
  
“Who are you? What are you?” She was fearful, but she would fight, she would endure.

_“A friend. Of sorts.”_

_“A Spirit? A Demon?”_

_“Closer, perhaps, to the former,” Not-Deshanna chuckled, smirking._  
  
_“And what do you want?”_

 _“I merely want to warn you. When you return, remember: to stand in opposition to the gods is a dangerous thing.”_  
  
_Halesta met the eyes of the Keeper’s visage, and realized they were the familiar gold of buttercup petal. She had seen those eyes before….But something unrelated came back to her._

 _“Perhaps the danger is the delusion of those who would call themselves gods,” Halesta found herself baring her teeth, a wolfish smile._  


_The Imposter tilted her head, appraising the small woman before her, and then the tiniest smile of approval arched one corner of Deshanna’s mouth—in a way the real Keeper never smiled._

_“I can see how he could love you. You and he could have nas'taronen.”_  
  
_“Who?”_

_“Your Wolf. Speaking of whom,” The figure of Deshanna disappeared, but Halesta heard the same rasping voice in the air, “I believe it is time for you to return.”_

* * *

Eliana sat up with a gasp of fear, waking Solas, who had been sitting next to her cot, sleeping with his head rested beside her.  
  
“Halesta—Eliana,” He immediately reached his hands out, grasping her shoulders to still her attempt to fight him off, “It is me, Vhenan. _Solas_. You are safe.” 

He shuddered, though imperceptibly, at the memories he had witnessed in her dreams. He had tried to keep up, but had lost her before whatever scared her into the waking world.  


“Safe—Solas….” She gasped again, clutching with clawed hands at his fingers on her shoulders; slowly, her wild eyes settled on his face, calming with understanding, “Where…?”

“At camp at the foot of the Tower of Bone,” He eased her back down against her pillows, a tone of grim amusement creeping into his voice, “Dorian is to thank for all of our forward progress. In avenging you, Dorian seems to have found his true calling as a Red Templar slayer.”

She met his eyes and the small smile he offered with a furrowed brow before her gaze grew wide with the memory, “The Lyrium—!”  
  
“You do not seem to have been corrupted,” Solas assisted Eliana with her desperate grasping to lift her nightshirt, to stare in horror at the scar now marring her stomach, “But you will have that scar, despite all attempts to heal you of it.” 

“How did you…?” She seemed to look at him in awe, and he felt his chest tighten with love. 

“A risky, and rash decision that could have killed you,” He dropped his eyes to his hands, enveloped her own small, slender fingers; his eyes stung with the threat of tears.

            _You almost lost her._  


“But it didn’t,” Her voice was warm and soothing; now she was the one to offer comfort, “I owe you my life many times over, ma’ Fen. Always saving me from my own reckless and tactless decisions.”

He felt her sit up again, and he raised his eyes to see her perfect amethyst gaze, dusky and heavy-lidded before she pressed her lips to his. Just for a moment, he was swathed in warmth: silk and honey. Then—  


“Solas, how is—OH!” Cassandra fell on the cot between them, crying openly as she hugged the tiny Inquisitor against her cold, bloody armor, “You are awake—!”

“SHE IS AWAKE!” The Lady Seeker was calling out over her shoulder, still clasping the wide-eyed Eliana.

 “Cass, your armor is freezing,” Elie was laughing uncertainly, pleading.”  
  
“Oh, Eli-Inquisitor, I am sorry,” Cassandra stood back up, embarrassedly rubbing at her eyes as Varric forcefully entered the tent, looking around wildly.

 “Foxlette, what in the name of Andraste’s fat ass,” the dwarf was yelling, voice cracking with emotion as he threw his arms around her waist, “were you thinking? Don’t you _ever_ do that to us again!”  
  
“Varric—”  
  
“BOSS!”  


Solas now slipped from the medical tent, as it was suddenly full of her friends, allowing them to shower her both in reprimand and affection. Dorian stood outside still, appearing frozen to the ground, though he didn’t take his eyes off of the flap. Solas approached him slowly, remaining silent and with his hands clasped behind his back. He had earned the bruise the Tevene had gifted him two days before, still aching on his jaw.

“Is she…” Dorian started, his voice just a hoarse, shaking whisper, “—Is there any sign of taint?”

“None.” Solas spoke softly, not hiding his relief. Dorian’s eyes snapped to the Apostate’s face, skimming the bruise before meeting his gaze.

“I owe you an apology—”  
  
“No, you do not,” Solas raised his hand to stop Eliana’s dearest friend, “You were right. It is by some miracle my actions did not kill her.”

A heavy pause hung in the air between them for a moment, before the slightest flicker of a heartfelt smile was seen at the corner of Dorian’s wind-chapped, pale lips.

“Everything about her seems to be by some miracle, doesn’t it?” It was almost a chuckle, as the Altus returned his gaze to the tent; Solas couldn’t help the small curling smirk that pulled his own lips.

“She is certainly a small wonder. Da’venuris onhar.”

Bull had dipped his head out to see Dorian waiting, and, briefly tilting his horns back in, had the party soon flooding from the tent. 

“Let’s give ‘em a moment alone,” Bull murmured quietly to Varric, the last to exit the tent; ushered gently by the Qunari’s firm hand on his shoulder, and Dorian slipped passed the dwarf with a nod of appreciation.  


Solas looked over to see Laleal staring at him as she stood with both hands on the map table. He moved to her side, to see her scrunching a crumpled Templar missive in her fist.  
  
“Are you more angry with me or her?” He didn’t make eye contact with the she-elf who stood, all-but vibrating with rage, beside him.

“Her,” Lal’s voice was low, venomous: shaking with both hurt and disappointment, “She behaved exactly as they expected her to. But that is not the most pressing issue.”

She unclenched her fist, holding the note out to him; he gently pressed the creased out of the parchment before lifting it to read it. 

“Ah, Eliana had believed Mistress Poulin had seemed to be playing a bit too much the victim,” He remarked, lips pursed with disgust as he raised his eyes to Laleal.

“If there is one thing I can tell you after so many years of friendship,” the bronze-skinned beauty’s face was a resolute as Ironbark, her tone as much a warning as an agreement, “Your Inquisitor’s intuition should never be doubted. _She’s never far off the mark._ ”  
  


* * *

 

 

> _Klimt—_
> 
> _Lieutenant Coutte isn’t feeling well, so I must rely on you to handle the lady from the village.  
>  Set aside some basic supplies: flour, dried peas, blankets, any coin you can spare. Either bring them or have them brought to the grove of trees at the fork of the Elfsblood, two nights from now. Make sure no one sees you. Mistress Poulin should be there. She’ll give you a list—people we can use—in exchange for the good. Bring the list to me.  
>  __Oh, and lean on her a bit. Coutte’s got a soft heart, and lets her get away with things. Her lists have been getting shorter, and she recommends folks who are old or have some hidden ailment. We take them, but they don’t survive the Seeding. Useless.  
>  _ Tell her she comes up with something good, or we take everyone.
> 
> _—Knight-Captain Fornier_

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma’: My  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Esh'an ehn Silaimem: They who are Forgotten (the “Forgotten Ones”)  
> Shemlen: Quick children; derogatory slang non-Dalish and humans  
> Nuva Fen'Harel tel'syla mar odhe: May the Dread Wolf not breathe your scent  
> Ahn ane nulemah: What are you about to regret  
> Nas'taronen: Twin souls  
> Fen: Wolf  
> Da’venuris onhar: Smallest and divine wonder/amazement


	61. Laughter and Revolutions (Or: Suledin Keep, abridged)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Give me not a man whose love would drive him mad._**  
>  ** _Give me, instead, a man whose love would drive him to revolution._**  
>   
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry it's so short, but I _AM_ giving you two in one day!!  
>  This was mostly an excuse for a little light-heartedness.  
> Thank you for reading, and I love you all to tiny pieces!!  
>  **Muah! <3 xoxox**
> 
>  
> 
> ***Note:** **This time all of the translations are at the beginning,**  
>  **because almost all of the Elvhen is spoken at the beginning.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Tevene (Latin):**  
>  Quod meretrix: That whore/prostitute  
> Melior: Better/Preferable
> 
> * * *
> 
> **Elven:**  
>  Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Falon: Friend (*Note that the Elves do not use the word ‘Falon' for anyone but true friends)  
> Ma siljosem la telames'an ya nuvenem: You have acted as the enemy (lit. bad they) have wished/wanted.  
> Felasilor da’asha: Foolish little woman  
> Ar siljosem i'telsil: I acted carelessly (lit. without thought)  
> Ahnsul ma, u, elana: Because you, alone, have the ability to  
> Dian'athe Fen’Harel: stop/cease The Dread Wolf  
> Ar eolasa: I understand  
> Ma’ vherassan’udh: My small/cute/pretty tiger, (lit. arrow cat)  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Da’vhenan: (my) Little Heart
> 
>  
> 
> ****
> 
> * * *

  
“Quod _meretrix_ ,” Eliana handed the missive back to Dorian, attempting to capture his mother tongue with the adequate disgust and air that he, himself, had shown.

“Melior,” He allowed with a small smile, noting how far off her accent was.  
  
Her Elvhen was so smooth, rolling off her tongue, often with one word unintelligible from the next; whereas Tevene was sharper, and more distinct. She struggled, Dorian described as _“adorably”_ , having spent her entire first day conscious still confined to bed. Solas now sat at her feet, keeping them subtly, though blessedly, warm with the heat of his Magic pressed through the bundles of blankets around her.  
 

“When am I allowed to actually _fight_ again?”  
  
She felt the words slip, only to mark the curl of Dorian’s upper lip with reproach and frustration from the corner of her eye; a look not dissimilar from the admonishment on Laleal’s face. Solas’s sharp glance flitted up to the Tevene before back to her, a faint smile tempting both corners of his otherwise passive expression.  
  
“When I say so, Vhenan,” he attempted to be stern, but she heard the amusement in his voice, “And not a moment sooner.”  
  
“We are waiting entirely on _you,_ ” Laleal’s tone was almost scornful, “to take Suledin Keep, and to face this Desire demon, ‘Imshael’.”  
  
“Well, _pardon me_ for slowing you down,” Eliana couldn’t help but spit back, despite catching both Solas’s and Dorian’s glances of warning.  
  
“You _should_ beg pardon,” Laleal started, but with the simple lift of Solas’s hand, Elie’s longest friend snapped her mouth shut, glaring daggers at her instead.  
  
“Gentlemen, may we have some words,” Eliana forced a sweet smile across her face, looking from the Apostate to the Tevene, “Alone?”  
  
“I doubt that would be—” Solas began, but Dorian had already stood, and warmly grasped the Apostate by the shoulders.   
  
“Of course,” Ever the charming peacock, her best friend bowed, stirring Solas from his place by her feet, “We will fetch the ladies dinner; hmm, Solas?”  
   
“As you say, Falon,” Solas nodded as he followed Dorian, surprising Elie with his term of amity toward her beloved Altus. As the tent flap slapped closed behind them, Laleal was abruptly in her face.  
  
  
“Ma siljosem la telames'an ya nuvenem, felasilor da’asha,” The bronze-skinned woman hissed, mere hairs away from Eliana’s face.  
  
“You’re right,” Elie could feel the heat in her face, the guile in her words, “Ar siljosem i'telsil. Why won’t you let it go?” Fire enflamed behind Lal’s eyes, though her voice dipped near-inaudibly low.  
  
“Ahnsul _ma, u,_ elana dian'athe Fen’Harel,” Laleal sighed and let her eyes fall shut, pressing her head against Eliana’s tenderly as she took the Inquisitor’s hands in her own, “And because…you were once my lover, and are now my oldest friend—and I could not bear to lose you.”  
  
“Ar eolasa, ma’ vherassan’udh,” Eliana managed a choked whisper in response, calling Laleal an endearment not spoken since Elie’s mother was alive, “I’m sorry.”

“Ladies!” Dorian announced their approach from outside their tent, and Laleal settled back comfortably against Eliana’s upward-bent knees as he and the Apostate entered with a bowl and plate in each hand, “Dinner is served!”

Eliana found herself smiling shyly at Solas as he handed her a bowl of August Ram stew—one of her least-know favorite meals.  


* * *

  
When he slept the night before, Solas had watched her walk through those same memories as when she had been healing— _Barefoot in the moonlight, Laleal, mention of Felassan and the Conclave, the human men with their throats cut, the blood on her hands, her clothes, her face...._  Yet this time, she moved through them more quickly, and rather tersely, as if annoyed. Her eyes searched the area around her, as if looking for something only she could see—Until her eyes had met his own. He had assumed he would be less distinct in this form: he had been mistaken. She had given chase, and he had to wake himself to assure escape. When he had woken, the words spoken in her memories had continued to ring in his head like a bell, until she stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes with her small fists.

“—Solas?” He was abruptly brought back to the discussion: Eliana, wrapped in innumerable blankets and standing beside Cassandra at the table that held the map. 

“Hm, pardon?” He blinked his eyes and met the Inquisitor’s bemused gaze.

“Today we take Suledin Keep?” She raised her eyebrows, nodding as she spoke—as if trying to take advantage of his being caught off-guard.

  
“Inquisitor, I am still not convinced you are well enou—”

“I am _not_ sitting around another day,” She was quite the sight: crossing, with some difficulty, her blanket-burdened arms and pouting her bottom lip—altogether, a very infantile display.

“Da’len—and I will thank you not to interrupt me,” Though his chiding at her was much to their company’s amusement, she had the dignity to blush with shame, “You have only been conscious for a single day.”

“ _Hahren_ , you and Dorian both said all signs of Mana imbalance aren’t apparent anymore!”  
  
“Eliana, ‘no longer apparent’ and ‘no longer present’ are not the same,” His voice was monotone, but there was an edge to his voice.

“We don’t have time for this,” Apparently in no mood to be cosseted, he realized she would be having none of his ( _admittedly far_ _-too_ _lackadaisical)_ attempts at dissuasion, “I’m fine. We’re doing this.”

“Ma nuvenin, da’vhenan,” He allowed his eyelids to fall heavy, pursing his lips in obvious disapproval.

 She returned his gaze with an obstinate squint before stomping off to her tent and Dorian sidled up to him.  
  
  
“ _Give me not a man whose love would drive him mad,_ ” The dusky Mage cooed quietly beside him, “ _Give me, instead, a man whose love would drive him to revolution._ ”

Solas didn’t reply, but turned to look at his newly-declared _Falon_ , cocking an eyebrow in silent query.

“It’s her favorite love poem,” Dorian quipped with a smirk, returning his eyes to the small, retreating pile of blankets.

“I can see why she would have difficulty finding the latter,” Solas, defeated, sighed as he shook his head; “She is a stubborn, insolent, _maddening_ little thing.” 

“Ah, yes. But she is _our_ stubborn, insolent, maddening little thing,” Dorian grinned wolfishly as Solas, despite himself, let out a quiet bark of laughter and followed her to her tent.  
  


* * *

  
Eliana, Solas, Bull, Laleal, and Varric crossed the makeshift wooden bridge warily, heading towards the Keep. Dorian, Cassandra, and Cole would be joining them shortly ( _I hope_ ), along with a few Mages and Soldiers—the Spirit-Boy and Seeker had grown inexplicably ( _and adorably_ ) fond of each other as of late. The threesome had been sent earlier in the morning to accompany a small Inquisition unit, aiming to free the people of Sahrnia from the Templar camps in the hills below.  
  
For now, Elie took point with Laleal, scouting just a few steps ahead as the wound their way through a small cluster of the pathetic remains of houses. She could feel the heat through her thickest winter breeches from the Red Lyrium: jutting up into giant thorns amongst the scattered shingles and bricks, like some abysmal stone weed.  
  
“Snow's melting around the Red Lyrium,” Bull mumbled to no one in particular.  
  
“I'd rather be cold than touch that stuff,” Varric’s grumbling retort addressed to the same.

She signaled her party to stop, catching sight of a shield toting guard milling around the corner of one of the better-remaining edifices. Turning, she gestured to Bull about the shield; he nodded, moving forward— _with surprising silence, considering his size and…everything thing else about him_ —before side-stepping through the standing arch of an old doorway. Immediately catching the guard’s attention, the Qunari left Eliana free to noiselessly slink her way behind the Templar and slip her dagger into the space between his helmet and armor, slitting his throat. 

“Good call, Boss,” Bull stage-whispered, causing Eliana to stifle a giggle, “Quick and quiet is probably our best bet.”  
  
“Until the cavalry is able to join us, at any rate,” Solas nodded his agreement.

They picked off two more Templar guards in fairly the same manner before surveying the collapsing houses for any pertinent information or useful materials. They slowly moved up towards the Keep, and Elie found herself overwhelmed, awestruck by the immense Elvhen ruins. 

Even the collapsing remnants were beautiful, and she could feel the hum of the Fade pushing tightly against the Veil, as if trying to physically touch her. The four made their way under ancient arches that appeared to disintegrate ever-so-slowly: lifetimes could be spent watching before one would witness so much as a brick shift loose and fall to the ground. And then there were the two great stone owls, standing with wings outstretched, wingtip-to-wingtip, the large basins atop their heads somehow yet burning with an ageless and primal fire.  
  
             _Oh…._  
  
Eliana’s wonder escaped her as a sigh; her wide-eyed amazement not catching Solas’s glance of amused curiosity at the visible thrill that was all-but lifting her body off the ground.  
  
“Do we just smash it all, or what?”  
  
Bull’s ( _annoying…though understandable_ ) suggestion brought Elie’s focus back to the reason they were here—but before she could retort, she heard the sound of fighting drawing her eyes to the front of the Keep. Ser Michel de Chevin stood in combat at the door with a Red Templar Knight and Shadow, and the small Inquisition party wasted no time in running to assist him—effectively ending the assault in mere moments.  
  
  
“Bad new, Herald,” Ser de Chevin’s thick Orlesian accent made Elie flinch even harder than usual at the title, “Your attempts to drive off the Red Templars have not gone unnoticed.”

“I wasn’t aware it was a covert operation, Ser Michel,” She pursed her lips and cocked a brow at the Chevalier, drawing a soft chuckle from Solas.

“Imshael knows we’re here,” The man continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all, turning as he moved past them, nearly running backwards, “He sent Templars after me, and a pack of Shades now descends upon Sahrnia.”

“I expect that’s where you’re going now?” It was more of a statement than a question that Varric called to the Chevalier.  
  
“The people are defenseless—I must return without delay,” He turned now, yelling back over his shoulder, “It’s up to you to destroy Imshael!” 

For a brief moment, they just stood staring dumbstruck at the Orlesian running away from them.

“So, here we are, cleaning up another human mess, Foxlette,” Varric’s dry tone and embittered expression stole some humor from the joke.

“What would the Inquisition do without our stabilizing influence, Master Tethras?” Solas quirked a smile at the dwarf, much to the surprise of the rest of the party.

“I assume they'd just start burning things,” Varric laughed this time, and Solas managed an expression of faux-musing.

“That does sound like most humans I know.”

“If you gentlemen are quite finished?” A welcome voice drew their attention to the side approach of the group’s joining friends. 

“Now, now, don't get touchy, Lady Seeker,” Varric grinned widely at Cassandra’s nearing sneer, “We're just here to lend you simple humans our help.”

“Before you cause everything to explode,” Solas blinked at the Seeker innocently. 

“ ** _Again_** ….” Varric’s last word earned another chuckle from Solas and a disgusted sigh from Cass, whose light smack to the back of the dwarf’s head distracted from the smile she was struggling to subdue.

“ALRIGHT!” Bull was suddenly thundering, swinging his war-axe into the wooden door of the Keep sending a shower of splinters over the party,  
**“LET’S KICK SOME DEMON ASS!”**

* * *

 

“Ah, the Heroine arrives. But is it Heroine, or Murderer? So difficult to tell….”  
  
They had made it through the seemingly endless waves of Templar Horrors, Behemoths, Abominations, and a few Giants turned mad from exposure to Red Lyrium _—“_ _They want to be big,” Cole had whispered, “To kill everything”_ —finally arriving in the center of the Keep.  
  
  
Solas kept a steady eye on Eliana as she sauntered towards the visage of a human man, glowing with a violent red, but not otherwise unattractive.  
  
“The demon Imshael, I presume,” The Inquisitor was almost droning, and Solas could feel the discomfort radiating off of the group around him—a feeling he shared.

“ _Rude_ ,” Imshael feigned insult, “I prefer _‘Choice Spirit’_.”  
  
  
“Mn.” Solas couldn’t withhold the dubious grunt that bubbled up from his throat, or the eye-roll when the Seeker called out.  
  
“Maker, give us strength!” The shrill tone of her voice drew the demon’s attention.

“Wait, wait, wait…. _These_ are your friends?” Imshael gestured to the group behind the Inquisitor, “They’re very violent. It’s worrying.”  
  
Elie dramatically tossed her head back towards them in a show of incredulity, but didn’t bother a reply.

“True to my name, I will show you have a choice,” The man’s smile was alarmingly seductive, and Solas fought the urge to stand between the demon purring at his Vhenan, “It doesn’t need _always_ end in blood.”  
   
  
She stood a moment silently before raising her palms in expectation.  
  
“Well?”

“It rarely hurts to listen,” Solas advised firmly from behind her, “ _Trust_ is another matter, entirely.”  
  
“It’s simple, darling: we don’t fight,” Imshael began to circle her, one hand tucked behind his back, the picture of gentility, “I shower you in power, or riches. Or perhaps virgins. Your pick—”  
  
“ _Virgins_?” Eliana interrupted, she turning herself and earning a few laughs from Bull, Varric, and Dorian as she carefully watched the demon’s movements, “How tedious.”

“— _And then_ we all live ‘Happily Ever After’,” He had raised his voice slightly, as if to warn her not to interrupt him again, “Well…not all of us. But who’s counting?”  
  
He came to a stop, having returned to his original point, and mimicked her earlier expectant hand gesture. His eyes glinted and his smile was all charm. 

“So?”  
  
“Mm….” Eliana tapped her chin once as if thinking it over before curling her hands into little fists on each hip, “No. But thanks. You die, demon.”  
  
“Oh for— _Choice!_ _Spirit!_ ” Imshael sighed before disappearing, but his voice echoed around them all, “If you won’t be smart— _be afraid_.”  
  
  
But as the Fearlings emerged, her dagger and staff already in-hand, she did the most remarkable thing—the beauty of it nearly knocking the wind from Solas’s lungs….   
  
Inquisitor Halesta Eliana Lavellan just tossed her head back and laughed.  
  
_“Give me not a woman whose love would drive her mad. Give me, instead, a woman whose love would drive her to revolution….”_

 

 

> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **_C.C.—_**  
>  **_Attached are Templar notes and letters found in Suledin Keep for your contemplation._**  
>  **_We should return to Skyhold in just short of a fortnight. Best wishes._**  
>  **_—E.L._**
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Conall—_  
>  _Do we know anything about that Imshael fellow? Where did he come from?_  
>  _Why are we to defer to him? He's not from the Order, so far as I know, and_  
>  _there's something about him that makes me uneasy._  
>  _—Hayden_
> 
> _**~~~~~~~  
>  ** _
> 
> _Hayden—_  
>  _Everyone makes you uneasy. Calm down. What I hear is: Imshael was sent to help oversee_  
>  _Red Lyrium growth in the quarry. He supports the cause, and that's all that matters._  
>  _Keep your nose down, do your job, and don't antagonize him._  
>  _—Conall_
> 
> _~~~~~~~_  
>    
>  _Writing has become difficult. There is a sharp pain in my hands when I move them, like shards of glass in my knuckles._  
>  _When I look in the mirror, I don't recognize myself. I remember when Lieutenant Erasmus got this way. He looked like a_  
>  _living corpse, his complexion a facsimile of the blush of life. Instead of blood, it was pulsing Red Lyrium. It killed him_  
>  _and kept him alive at the same time._  
>  _I don't want this anymore. It gave me power, but it goes against everything I was taught. Sometimes I am swept along_  
>  _with the fervor, but in quiet, I remember what I was, and what I believed._  
>  _Some say Imshael can cure us. He can pull the Red Lyrium from our bodies, if we ask him. But there's a price. No price_  
>  _would be too high. I just want to be myself again._
> 
> _**~~~~~~~  
>  ** _
> 
> _Knight-Captain Fornier_  
>  _Day 4_
> 
> _We arrived in the Highlands at night. I was immediately given the task of overseeing the acquisition_  
>  _and staffing of the Sahrnia quarry. I asked the general why we needed a quarry, if the crystals will grow_  
>  _anywhere. Apparently the Elder One believes the composition of the earth here will ensure that it grows more_  
>  _rapidly and abundantly. I didn't ask why he believes this. The General doesn't like questions. He probably_  
>  _doesn't know._  
>  _Some of my men feel we should take the quarry by force. The general did not specify how I was to secure_  
>  _the land, so I am considering a more subtle approach. Any suspicions we raise will increase the chance of a_  
>  _military investigation, perhaps even the newly formed Inquisition. We must operate in secret as long as possible._  
>  _I scouted the quarry yesterday. It is quiet. With the war raging, I expect demand for luxury granite has_  
>  _decreased significantly. A thought occurs to me: so much is gained through commerce. Why not exploit that?_
> 
> _~~**~~~** ~~ _
> 
> _I was in Kirkwall when Meredith died. She drew upon the Red Lyrium in her sword, and was consumed by it._  
>  _Yet here we are, taking power from the Lyrium and still alive. Fornier says in the early days, many were lost to_  
>  _the madness too quickly. We must use it enough so that it changes us, but not so much that it destroys us._  
>  _He thinks Imshael is the key. He knows something about Red Lyrium; with his help, we can keep the corruption_  
>  _at bay longer._  
>  _He called himself a gardener. Is that how he sees it? He tends the Red Lyrium, keeping it well-fed_  
>  _and growing. Not too quickly, not too slowly…._
> 
> _~~**~~~** ~~ _
> 
> _My lord Imshael—_  
>  _There is a soldier in Sahrnia who calls himself Michel._  
>  _He arrived last night and has been asking about the Keep, and you in particular._  
>  _He told people you are a demon. Shall we have him retrieved?_  
>  _—Conall_
> 
> _~~**~~~**~~_  
>    
>  _Conall—_  
>  _Demon? What a frightful thing to call someone._  
>  _No. Leave Michel alone. He made his choice; I look forward to his attempts to follow through..._  
>  _although I suspect he'll trip on his good intentions and fall down a well inside a week._  
>  _—Imshael_
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **BONUS: Sleepy Laleal & Halesta.**
> 
> _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  (I did not make/do not own/lay no claim to this .gif, okay?)   
>  (I just know if I don't say it, someone will inevitably bring it up...-_-)


	62. Shaking Old Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana is the last to know about Cullen's withdrawal, and Solas   
> is about to get in BIG trouble, thanks to one of his little birdies.
> 
>  
> 
> I apologize for the brevity of this chapter,  
> but my life is a mess. I'm sorry :(

 

* * *

 

> _Seeker—_
> 
> _Your return is required posthaste: travel ahead alone, if you must. C.C. appears to be worsening. You need to talk._
> 
> _—N.  
> _  

* * *

 

  
Eliana had felt uncomfortable about Cassandra and Cole’s secretive need to return before the rest of them, so as soon as she entered the gate, she was dismounting Da’assan and gathering just the information Cullen needed before handing the horse’s reigns off to Dorian. Solas eyed her curiously, but she merely gave him a polite smile before rushing off. She took the stairs to the battlements two at a time, opening the door to Cullen’s office abruptly enough to startle a lone Scout, who was standing by the Commander’s desk.

“Inquisitor!” The woman snapped to attention, “If you’re looking for the Commander, he has gone to speak to the Seeker.”  
  
“At ease, please. Thank you,” Elie furrowed her brow in concern and passed the Scout to exit the opposite door.  
  
“Ser.” The Scout relaxed slightly, but Eliana noted the woman still eyed her nervously.

_Nevermind, Cassandra’s probably at her practice dummy._   
  


She passed several guards and soldiers, all straightening and saluting as she her way across the ramparts, towards the little corner Cassandra had claimed for her own. But as she padded down the stone stairs and around The Herald’s Rest, neither Cassandra nor Cullen was in sight. As she approached the small stump Cassandra liked to sit on when she read, she heard the muffled Nevarran’s voice from her right. The door to the Smithy was pulled-to, but not shut, so Elie pushed it open slowly.  
  
“You asked for my opinion and I’ve given it,” the Seeker’s voice became clearer, as Elie’s eyes adjusted to the dark, furnace-lit room, “Why would you expect it to change?” 

“I _expect_ you to keep your word,” She peeked around a wooden post at Cullen’s incensed tone, “It’s relentless! I can’t—”  
  
“You give yourself too little credit,” Cass countered as the Commander pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this,” Cullen’s body language was becoming more and more concerning to Eliana, but Cassandra seemed unbothered, “Would you rather save face than admit—”  
  


Eliana took a step out, then, catching their attention. Cullen ducked his head immediate and began to pass her.

“Forgive me,” He murmured, voice full of shame, and she turned to watch him leave with wide-eyes.  
  
“And people say _I’m_ stubborn,” Cassandra called after him, “This is ridiculous!” 

The Seeker shook her head before meeting Elie’s expectant expression.

“Cullen told you he’s no longer taking Lyrium?”   
  


“Wha— _no_ , he hasn’t,” She crossed her arms, feeling her lips purse, “Is this going to kill him?” 

“Not likely, he has done well so far,” Cass leaned casually against the table behind her, “He has asked me to watch him: to remove him from command should he become unfit to lead. He is doubting himself.”

“Well, I respect his decision…” Elie still frowned, frustrated that he—that no one—had thought to let her in on his withdrawal.

“As do I,” Cassandra nodded, smirking to herself slightly, “Not that he’s willing to listen. He’s just asked that I recommend a replacement for him.”

Eliana leaned back slightly, her expression hardening.  
  


“I refused. It’s not necessary,” the Seeker raised a hand as if to stop the Inquisitor from an outburst, “Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.” 

“And no one thought to, I don’t know, perhaps come to me?” Cass gave her a little head tilt and smile, understanding.  
  
“We had an agreement long before you joined us,” her friend reminded Elie that she had not always been considered a trustworthy addition to their movement, “As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to…risk _your disappointment_.”

Eliana cocked a brow at that, catching the twitch at the corner of the Seekers mouth.

“Well,” she sighed, rolling her eyes, “Is there anything we can do to change his mind?”

“If anyone could, it’s you,” Cassandra managed to contain her urge to smirk, “Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their Lyrium leash.”   
  


Elie felt a wave of guilt at that: understanding now better than she had before. It wasn’t merely an addiction—it was a form of control. 

“Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it’s possible.” The Seeker went on more softly now, “He can do this, I knew as much when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”

Cass looked at her, urging, before walking back out to the stump. Eliana took a deep breath to calm herself—this was not the time to scold her Commander like a Shemlen child.

            _He’s trying to do what he thinks is best for the Inquisition—and for himself._  
  
  


After a few moments, she straightened herself, remembering the parchment in her hand, and walked back up to his office. The door was ajar, and as she nudged it open, she could see Cullen leaning over the small box of Lyrium on his desk, looking defeated. Suddenly he let out a yell, throwing the box across the room—just missing her head. The sound of shattered glass on stone was the only sound as the few Scouts and Soldiers outside his office seemed to disappear. Eliana’s eyes moved slowly from the splintered pieces of wood and shards of glass on the floor beside her, up towards the Commander, who stood with mouth agape. 

“Maker’s Breath! I didn’t hear you enter, I—” He was visibly shaking, and Elie felt a pang in her chest, “Forgive me….”

He shook his head, and she saw the muscles of his jaw spasm.

“As long as you weren’t aiming at me, I’m sure the box had it coming,” She approached him slowly, stopping short to rest her hip against his desk, setting the missives down before crossing her arms.

“I swear, I didn’t know you were—” Cullen moved to step forward, but doubled over with a groan of pain, “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“I believe you,” Elie instinctively reached out, placing a hand on his arm.  
  


“For whatever good it does, promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them,” The Commander dropped his eyes to his desk. 

“Do you know what happened at the Ferelden Circle? It was overtaken by abominations. The Templars—my _friends_ —were slaughtered,” His voice was a strangled growl, and he turned away from her, leaning on the frame of the window behind his desk.

“I was _tortured_. They tried to break my mind, and I—How can you be the same person after that?” He turned back to her, rage in his eyes, “ _Still,_ I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of Mages ended in madness.”

“Kirkwall’s Circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” He walked back towards her, his tone and expression accusatory, and she nearly took a step back before catching herself.  
 

“Of course I can. I—” Her own ire came back in a flood, but he cut her off.  
 

“Don’t! You should be questioning what I’ve done,” Cullen was pacing in front of her now and she rested her hands on her hips, her nails digging sharply into the skin beneath her dusty riding shirt, “I thought this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life! But these thoughts won’t leave me….” 

“How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause” He was gripping at his hair now; his voice almost cracking with distress as he yelled, “I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry! _I should be taking it!_ ”  
  
  
Elie felt herself flinch as he stopped, punching the bookshelf and whispered as he leaned against it, “I should be taking it.”  
  
“Cullen, stop a moment. This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition,” She took the two steps over to him, her face in front of his, “Is this what _you_ want?”  
  
“No,” He sighed, looking at her almost pleadingly now, “But these memories have always haunted me…. If they become worse, if I can’t endure this—”  
  
He looked as if he were going to move again, but she placed a hand in the center of his chest and looked him squarely in the eye.

“You _can._ ”

“All right,” He exhaled, nodding without breaking her gaze.  
   
His breath was warm on her face and she became abruptly aware of how very close their faces were. She took a step back, trying to smile reassuringly as he, too, seemed to break from their trance: blushing and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Remembering the letters, she pushed them towards Cullen. 

  
“I think you should have a look at these, Commander,” She tried to make a joke of the formality, but it felt weak. He picked up the letters, scanning the scrawled handwriting quickly. 

“Samson is making Red Lyrium from _people_?” The disgust and disbelief in his voice mirrored her own when she had read the same words.

“Not anymore—Well, not in that mine,” Elie shook her head, swallowing hard.

“I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous!” Cullen paced again, but calmly now, his eyes searching the stone, “We have to put a stop to him. Look at these orders from the encampment. That armor must give him _extraordinary_ power. We may not be able to stop him.”

“Well, if we can’t defeat him, who can?” Elie looked at him with a resolute expression, “We have to find a way.”

“We must destroy that armor,” His brow was stern for a moment before a small smile appeared, “I couldn’t say _how_. Templars are trained _not_ to destroy expensive magical equipment.”   
  
She chuckled a little at his joking shrug, and he locked eyes with her again.

“Maybe Dagna has an idea?” His expression softened and his voice was gentle, “She crafts the impossible every day.”  
  
“I’ll speak to her first thing in the morning,” Conceding, Eliana nodded and turned to back toward the door, “Right now, I need a bath, food, and sleep.”   
  
  
“Inquisitor—”   
  
“For Creators’ sake! Call me Elie,” She smiled, turning back around to look at him.

“Elie, then,” His face bloomed crimson, “Thank you.”  
  
“You work yourself to death, Cullen. Get some rest; I’ll talk to Solas about something to help you sleep.”  
  
“Ah,” His tone was slightly uncomfortable, “Yes, thank you.”

  
She turned and took another step through the doorway before stopping.  
  
“And Cullen?” She looked over her shoulder to his wide, honey Mabari eyes. 

“Next time, maybe someone could tell me if one of my leaders was doing something that could kill them? I’d appreciate it,” She smiled teasingly, and he grinned with an embarrassed nod of agreement.  
  


Closing the door to his office behind her, Eliana made her way across the catwalk towards the Rotunda; the sky had begun to turn the dusky pinks and purples of sunset. She laughed a little to herself, shaking her head.  
  
            _If he weren’t so damn pretty, I swear…._  
  


* * *

  
Solas watched casually from his divan as Eliana ambled into the Rotunda from the door towards Cullen’s office, looking as if she had just spent the last three hours reciting the Chant of Light by heart. She unceremoniously dropped onto the cushion beside him before laying her body across his lap—causing him to lift the manuscript he had been reading so she would not be lying on it.

“Souvera, Vhenan?” He pretended to continue reading, as if he were not watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Very. Cullen has apparently decided to stop taking Lyrium,” She sighed, squeezing her eyes tight as she absentmindedly lifted a hand to her temple.

“Yes, I know.” She turned her head to look up at him sharply.

“They told you?”  
  


“No, I merely observed. Did they not tell you?” He arched an eyebrow at her. 

“No, I was not informed until today when I had a box thrown at my head,” Tartly spoken, but she closed her eyes again, turning her head back to the side.

“Pardon?” Solas felt the outrage welling up, but struggled to stay calm.

“Not _at_ me. I was just standing where it was thrown,” She looked at him sidelong from under her lashes, a small, satisfied smirk on her lips, “Don’t worry, it missed.”  
  


“Hm, too bad.” It was his turn to be sour.

“Speaking of which,” She adjusted, turning her body and head to better face him, “Is there anything you could whip up to help Cullen sleep without so many nightmares?”  
  
            _A rock would do the trick.  
  
_ “Perhaps. I will look into what ingredients are needed so I might ‘ _whip up_ ’ something for your Commander,” He had looked back to the manuscript, but she hadn’t missed the insinuation. 

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” Her voice was dry and void of amusement as she stood up, “I need a bath and some less passive-aggressive company.”  
  
She lifted her hair off of her neck as she walked away towards the hall, and Solas’s eyes found the top of the scar on her neck; the briefest glimpse peeking out from her collar before she dropped her hair again and was gone into the Hall. He sighed to himself, rubbing his eyes as he set the manuscript aside.  
  


“She’s right you know,” The quiet, lilting voice came from the darkness of the stairs, as Enchanter Silea stepped out into the candle-lit Rotunda, “You are awfully passive-aggressive for a leader.”  
  
Solas looked around above them, but the library and Rookery appeared vacant. Silea was dressed as one of Leliana’s Scouts—a position that he was surprised, but pleased, she had been able to attain.  
   
“Don’t worry, _Harellan_. Everyone is at dinner,” She perched next to him on the arm of the divan, swinging her leg in a way that reminded him of Eliana.

“I did not think you so foolish as to speak without concern for attending ears, da’len.” He wiped his expression of all emotion and carried the manuscript to his desk.

“Ahn sildear ya’ememah mar _Vhenan_ ,” Silea purred behind him, “Vis as harthem ma lahna em ‘da'len’.”

“Silea,” He did not turn to face her, but his voice dripped venom, “Ma vira del’vir.”

Solas felt her body slide up against his, her hand wrap suggestively around his bicep, and just as he turned to push her away—  
  


“Ahem.” 

Dorian stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a dangerous flame in his eyes.

“Don’t mind me, just passing through.”   
  
The man’s voice was monotonous as he walked towards the stairs, ascending without allowing the Apostate to ask him to wait. Solas knew what the Tevene was assuming. He shook Silea off his arm with a snappish gesture, but her blue eyes were not fearful: she was _pleased_.

“Be gone, child,” Hissing, his eyes full of a barely-contained fury; it was enough to send her scampering towards the Hall.  
  
            _Fendehis lasa!_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shemlen: Quick children; derogatory slang non-Dalish and humans  
> Souvera: Tired  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Harellan: Rebel (orig.), trickster, or traitor  
> Ahn sildear ya’ememah mar vhenan: What mindset would have your Heart   
> Vis as harthem ma lahna em ‘da'len’: If she heard you call me ‘Little one’  
> Ma vira del’vir: You walk a wrong/stupid path.


	63. Two Can Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some nauseatingly sweet fluff, and   
> some flirting, because Cullen makes  
> it just wayy too much fun!!
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and   
> THANK YOU for reading!!   
> ❤ I love you all ❤  
> Muah! xoxox

  
Eliana spent the first of her morning in her quarters with Dorian, who huffed and grumbled almost as much as she did over the scene he had witnessed the night before.  
  
“Whatever, I don’t have time to think about his mind-games right now.”  
  
“Oh, you have something better to do than worry about your _'Vhenan'_ and his _Lavellan-wannabe_ coquette?” Dorian was reclined on her settee, heatedly buffing his nails to a shine.

“I have to talk to Dagna about Samson’s armor,” Elie rolled her eyes as she tugged off her nightshirt, not thinking twice about her nudity in front of her indifferent friend.

“Cullen is really after this guy, hm?” Dorian paused his buffing, an expression of epiphany overcoming his face, “You know, Cullen—”

“I will _not_ be toying with my Commander’s emotions in attempt to upset Solas,” She interrupted his thought as she presented him with her back, and he laced her breast-band with a huff.

“I’m just saying.”  
  
“Maybe if he weren’t in the middle of Lyrium withdrawal,” She smirked over her shoulder at Dorian’s chuckle. 

“If you say so!”

She tugged on her leggings, hopping up and down, and buttoned up one of the form-fitting blouses. She usually forewent these tighter tops in favor of a loose men’s shirt, but she fully intended to draw some eyes to her better (if not full-figured) assets today. 

“Alright, my Peach,” She grinned, slipping her feet into a pair of comfortable slippers, “Walk with me.”  


They passed arm-in-arm through the Hall and the breakfast crowd, but Eliana didn’t allow her eyes to search for the Apostate. Instead, they walked straight through the door down to the Undercroft. She was always happy to see Harritt, even though it brought back flashes of memories from Haven….

“Dagna, my favorite Arcanist!” She embraced the energetic young dwarfess.

“Elie! How was Sahrnia?” Dagna squealed excitedly.  
  
“Frozen, full of Red Lyrium, and I almost died,” Eliana said drolly, “You know, the usual.”  
  
This drew a cackle from the young Dwarf, which Dorian eyed with slight unease.

“Anyway, tell me,” She went on, “What have you learned of our friend, Samson?”

“He should be dead! I mean, you can make a _hat_ out of Red Lyrium and kill people—especially the wearer,” Dagna spoke quickly and excitedly, “Samson’s armor, it’s genius. To do all this and not go insane, he must be resistant. Or he _is_ insane. Or both!”

“Fantastic,” Dorian muttered under his breath, “More criminally-insane adversaries.”

“So in addition to killing others,” Eliana mused to aloud, “It’s slowly consuming him, too.”  
  
“Yes, but slow is not fast,” Dagna caught the look of confusion on their faces, “Doesn’t matter. I can find a way to hurt him. I just need time and Red Lyrium—For tests!”  
  
“Is that wise?” Dorian cocked a brow, eyeballing the eccentric Arcanist.

“Everything is safe if handled properly. And you don’t touch it long. Or breathe it,” Dagna gestured her hand with polite dismissal, “I mentioned the hat, right? No hat.”  
  
“Yes, please,” Elie smiled, “No hat.”

“Time and resources, Inquisitor. I’ll get what you want.”  
  
“We brought back a reinforced chest with some Red Lyrium shards for you,” Eliana nodded, “I’ll have it brought down. Anything else you need, just write down for Josie.”  
  
“You got it,” Dagna grinned wolfishly, and Eliana laughed, “Now, shoo! I’ve work to do!” 

“Yes ma’am,” she saluted, tugging Dorian along behind her.

“Great to see you, Harritt,” She gave the man a kiss on the cheek in passing, and the man grumbled something unintelligible—though certainly derisive—as she and Dorian slipped back through the door.  
  
“How is it always so warm down there, with it open-air like that?”  
  
Dorian’s question was rhetorical: everyone had noticed this inexplicable, though likely magical, quality about Skyhold.  
 

After breakfast, she sent notes to Cullen and Josephine regarding Dagna’s research and supply requests, before settling up in the library with Dorian, trying to find as much information on Red Lyrium as she could—but with very little success. She read over some letters Leliana’s people had found, and, with Dorian’s help and excellent memory, made little notes on a list of symptoms found in the mine of people outside of Sahrnia. The whole subject made her stomach turn, and she couldn’t seem to come to any understanding of Red Lyrium at all.  


 

> * * *
> 
> Knight-Vigilant Trentwatch—
> 
> It is good to hear you escaped the conclave alive. Come to Therinfal Redoubt. Send a bird when you're half a day away. Knight-Captain Denam will meet you.
> 
> Come at night. Ensure no one sees you. I will meet you in Denam's office. Things are happening in the Order; we must discuss them privately before you return to your duties.
> 
> —Lord Seeker Lucius Corin 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Whatever comes, follow the instructions in the shipment to the letter. The officers know what they've signed on for, but don't start all the knights on Red Lyrium at once. Use the amounts we've parceled out; give them medicine for the pain. They need to be ready to fight again soon enough.
> 
> These are your people now, "Lord Seeker." Be a better master to them than the Chantry. If I hear differently, you'll answer to the one we both serve.
> 
> —S. 
> 
> * * *
> 
> ** Stages: **
> 
> **—Exposure:** Symptoms vary. Subject may display heightened possessiveness or paranoia, or an increased penchant for violence.
> 
> **—Manifestation:** Subject becomes pained, varying in intensity but always painful. Physically, subject begins to look sickly; their flesh pales, and their veins become prominent but pulse red with the Lyrium. Subject can be described as resembling a "living corpse." Eyes also begin to emit a red glow. Subject may potentially emit a reddish haze from their body. Mentally, subject begins to hear a "song", which may compel them to try to force others to hear it; others are driven mad and die.  
>  **_≥≥_** _In Templars, enhanced strength becomes apparent, and as well as a tolerance for pain.  
>              _**_≥≥_** _Cole says that they hear "the song behind the door old whispers want opened". Templars recognize the song as different from the song of normal Lyrium, "deeper". Whether it is also different from the call of the Old Gods is unclear._
> 
> **—Advanced:** The Red Lyrium begins to crystallize within and sprout from the subject's body. More crystals grow from the subject as the stage progresses. Their flesh becomes misshapen, and begins to warp around and over any worn armor. Internally, the red Lyrium fuses to the subject's bones, overgrows their lungs, spreads like a fungus to the brain, and grows into their flesh. Blood drains out of the surrounding tissue, as if the Lyrium itself is feeding upon it.  
>  **≥≥** _In Templars, newfound powers emerge; some can now accelerate the conversion process in each other, sow Red Lyrium into the ground to shatter or form barricades, or launch it from afar as a projectile weapon._
> 
> **—End Stage:** Subject's body is completely overtaken by the Lyrium, becoming a  Behemoth. Although possessing immense strength, they are barely recognizable as having once been human and exist in constant agony.
> 
> * * *

“Ugh,” Eliana growled in frustration, slumping in her chair, “Nothing explains why it grows the way it does! It’s unlike any mineral vein—the way it spreads out like tree branches.” 

“It does seem rather…animate, somehow, doesn’t it?” Dorian’s brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought.

“It appears to behave more similarly to a kind of fungi,” A familiar and instantly irksome voice drew Elie’s eyes up.  


Solas stood in front of them, hands clasped behind his back and his face expectedly polite and vacant. She felt her pulse pick up when her eyes met his— _the exact color of the sea at the Storm Coast—_ and her throat felt suddenly dry.  
  
“It does, you’re right,” She turned her eyes back to Dorian: the Tevene’s nostrils flared at the sight of the Apostate.

“The way it spreads _is_ a lot like mushrooms,” She went on, directing her answer to her beloved Dorian, “And it also grows when introduced to a new environment or host, like a fungal spore.”  
  
“What you’re suggesting suggests some kind of awareness,” Dorian looked slightly dubious, but largely more _disturbed_ , at the implication, “As if—”  
  
“As if it is alive,” Solas finished for the man, nodding grimly as Eliana’s eyes returned to his own, “Vhenan, a word?”  
  
He outstretched his hand, offering to help her rise, but she stood on her own; handing the papers and books that had sat on her lap to Dorian. She wiped her ink-spotted fingers on her leggings and gestured for Solas to lead the way. She followed him down the stairs and through the Rotunda, neither of them speaking.  


They passed across the Hall and outside, into the unusually empty garden. It had been sunny and warm that morning, but now the sky was rather overcast—though it rained rarely here—and the day had become gray. They walked around the colonnade together in silence, passing only the herbalist and a female soldier, both of whom sat far apart with their minds immersed in different books. Solas guided her onto the garden path, meandering over to a well-grown vine of Arbor Blessing clinging to the stone of the curtilage. He plucked one of the aromatic leaves, rubbing it between his long, graceful fingers and filling the air with its unique, tart scent. 

"Blessed by the vine in spring,” Eliana recited in a whisper to herself, “I shall not fear the winter's sting."

_Already near winter, and yet the vine still thrives at a mountaintop castle._  


She looked up from his hands to see Solas watching her, as if attempting to gauge her disposition.

“Vhenan, I’m sure Dorian has already made you aware—”  
  
“Is this about Silea?” She interrupted with a calm voice; her expression was of neutral curiosity, but Eliana felt the acidic jealousy coil in her stomach. 

“It is.” Solas nodded, face still expressionless, unchanged.  


“I don’t much care who you fuck, Solas,” Her tone was indifferent, but the sound of the “k” was undeniably sharp….

“But your use of ‘ _Vhenan_ ’ as an arbitrary endearment?” She continued, “Is an irreverence to Our Language I consider beneath you.”

“I _do not_ use it as an ‘arbitrary endearment’, Halesta,” His voice was low, and she could see the offence had come close to stripping him of this careful control.

“As I suspected, Master Pavus misconstrued the situation,” The Apostate returned his hands to behind his back, “Which is understandable, considering his lack of context.” 

“Clarification isn’t necessary, Hahren,” Eliana failed to keep from rolling her eyes, “It’s not my business whom you bed.”

“Is it not?” He was then, in a heartbeat, very close to her; she found her back against the stone bricks. 

“I would not consider it relevant to the Inquisition,” Her voice was a bitter laugh.

“Is our…relationship,” His hesitation at the word was only just long enough for Elie to notice, “Is _that_ ‘relevant to the Inquisition’?”

“I’d like to think not,” She admitted begrudgingly, avoiding his eyes, “but, realistically, it undoubtedly has some effect, I’m sure.”

“Then whom I…’bed’— _is_ your business.”

A challenge, and one she couldn’t best, if she were honest with herself.  


“Not if I don’t care,” She smiled sardonically, but he stepped even closer to her. 

“Ma te’lath em?” A husky whisper, his eyes darker than unpolished iron, “Have you not said those very words?”  
  
“And has my saying them ever changed anything, Solas?”  
  
  
It came out almost as a sob, and she had to look away—had to take a deep breath—before she allowed his fingers under her chin to guide her eyes back to him.

“I mistakenly called her ‘da’len’, and she misread my denotation,” His voice was calm, and his warm breath smelled sweet, “I quickly corrected her.”  
  
“T—that’s not what I asked,” His eyes, so serious, found Elie struggling to concentrate on her words.

“Ar lath ma, u,” His lips whispered against hers, and she found herself closing her eyes to the sound, the feeling, of his honey-and-cream voice, “Ma' Halevune.”

When he kissed her, she let him—in truth, she kissed back, though she was careful and controlled, not allowing herself to melt into him the way her body tried to. She used the cool wall behind her to rest her weight as her mind spun, locking her knees to keep herself upright. He never pushed his lies so determinedly, so she knew it unlike that he was lying. And she knew enough of life and love to understand, the only pieces that one might truly keep for very long—of either—are the memories of moments like this. So, she decided, Silea didn’t matter.

_If he’s lying, I don’t care. I’ll take what I can of ma’ Fen, while I still have the opportunity._

He pulled back and, seeing the evident capitulation in her eyes, gave her a warm smile before relieving her chin from his touch. Elie took a slow step away from the wall, steadying herself, before placing her hand in the one he offered her. They began to amble the path again, holding hands, and she noticed the sky had grown darker, thick with heavy clouds.  
  
  
“I wish….”

“What do you wish, Vhenan?” Eliana looked from the sky, to Solas’s gracious smile, and back again.

“I wish it rained here more often,” She didn’t realize she was whispering, “I love the rain.”  
  
He smirked wryly for half a beat before cradling the back of her head, leaning down to move his mouth against hers.

“I do, too. Well, at least,” He quipped, lips brushing her own as he spoke, “When we are _not_ in the Mire.”

 She barely had the chance to chuckle before his smile pressed against her lips, and the sky opened up like a water-skin splitting. He kissed her in the late autumn rain until they were soaked through to the bone and her body racked with shivers. Just before he pulled her by the hand, running like giggling children through the downpour, the thought rung in her head as if it had been said allowed:  
  
            _Ar lath ma, Solas._

* * *

  
  
Solas found himself spending the rest of the evening in Eliana’s room. She had the fire blazing, candles all along every table and mantle—even in clusters on the floor. She had opened all the doors, the patter of the rain on the terrace was a dull roar.

He had helped her out of her wet clothes, reverently kissing every inch of newly exposed flesh as he went, and offering her one of her bathing cloths to dry her dewed Moonskin. He removed his own tunic, shirt, and foot-wraps; laying them alongside her garments in front of the fire to dry. He watched her tug on fresh smalls and a men’s shirt before roughly toweling her white-gold curls. As if feeling his eyes on her, still bent over at the waist, her lilac eyes met his with an unspoken question.

 She righted herself and passed him the towel wordlessly, but with a smile that he matched involuntarily. As he dabbed at his own skin, she turned and walked to the fire; standing with her back to him as she lifted her tresses and attempted to tame it into a loose ball atop her head. He found himself behind her, gently removing her hands from her hair. She stood still while he braided a few locks, winding them around the tangled mass, and securing it all with the leather cord she kept tied around her wrist. She turned to face him, looking enchantingly disheveled: a somnolent phantom, just awoken from a nap.  


“What is it?” She tilted her head, a small laugh in her voice, and the flicker of the firelight made the scars on her neck appear to dance.

“You are lovely, Halesta,” He breathed the words more than spoke them.

“Flatterer,” A joking glare, betrayed by a smirk, as she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and pulled him down for a kiss—bringing back the memory of the first time she had called him such….

_The taste of her mouth, her teeth raking against his tongue, the heat and quiver of her, his fingers sliding down her body, the sound of her moan when he had pulled her hair roughly—_

But this time, it was she who let go first, half-dancing out of his grasp and pulling from him a growl of protest. The moment was gone, but left the flavor of her happiness on his tongue, returning the easy patience to his seemingly endless hunger for her. Just being here, with her: this was enough for now.  
  
  
“I have some work to do,” She gathered some papers and books from a neatly placed stack ( _obviously not her own doing_ ) from her desk, “But, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to stay.”  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Vhenan,” He nodded, smiling at her earnest glance, “Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“Mm, maybe. Let me look,” She furrowed her brow in thought, falling artlessly onto her bed and moving into a cross-legged position as she shuffled the sheets of parchment.

“Ah, okay, here we are. Dorian suggested something about investigating Dumat? The first Archdemon?” Eliana lifted a book with a note tied to the front, “Corypheus was a former High Priest of Dumat. I don’t know if it will be of any help, but….”  
  
Solas sat beside her on the bed, stretching out his long legs, and took the book she offered him, _Tales of the Destruction of Thedas, by Brother Genitivi._

             
            _Ah, yes. Chantry scholars, ever the fount of wisdom and knowledge._

 

> _Dumat was the most powerful of the Old Gods, known as the Dragon of Silence for the vows of silence undertaken by his acolytes. Chantry lore claims it was he who taught the first magister, Archon Thalsian, the powers of Blood Magic. It was Dumat's followers who are believed to have entered the Golden City, thereby corrupting it with their presence.  
>  _ _Modern scholars question whether the Old Gods were truly gods, or whether they were merely a more advanced species of high dragon, possibly capable of magic or speech, that were worshipped by the ancient Tevinters. Whatever the truth of his history, Dumat was also the first of the imprisoned Old Gods to have been discovered by the Darkspawn and thus transformed into the first Archdemon, the monstrous force behind the First Blight._

Before he had managed to finish the chapter, he felt the weight shift on the mattress, and Eliana’s body slump against him. He looked down to see her unconscious face squished where her cheek was pressed against his arm, and the soft, even sound of her breathing in her sleep. She held a memorandum from Dagna in her hand, marked at the bottom with the unmistakable flourished hand of the Lady Ambassador: “ _With the right investment, nothing is beyond our reach.”_

He gently eased her back against her pillows, lifting her blankets to slide her beneath them, and quietly gathered her paperwork and books. He placed her work back on her desk before looking around at the countless candles. A simple flick of his wrist was all it took to extinguish all but two small clusters, dimming the room so she could rest comfortably. He bent to gather his clothes, which were still slightly damp.

“Don’t go,” Elie’s small, drowsy plea was only barely audible over the sound of the rain, “Please, Vhenan. Stay tonight.”

He smiled softly and set his things back down, climbing into the bed beside her. She instantly wrapped herself in his limbs, the tip of her cold nose pressed to the side of his throat. 

“Ma nuvenin. Just for tonight,” He murmured into her hair.  
 

By the end of the week, nearly of Skyhold knew the Apostate had slept every night since in the Inquisitor’s quarters.  
  


* * *

Eliana hopped up onto Cullen’s desk, perched and swinging one leg absently as she waited for him to finish talking to the handful of soldiers holding reports. As his charges shuffled out, he turned, looking surprised at her ease. She did have a terrible habit of making herself appear too comfortable with her advisors, not that she was aware of it. The Commander gave her a hopeful grin.

“No Red Lyrium source, no allies,” He walked around to the opposite side of the desk from her, “and soon Samson will have no armor. I hope.”

 “You hope?” She quirked an eyebrow, and he flushed slightly.  
  
“Dagna’s started work on her Red Lyrium samples, but she needs more details on the armor,” He explained, looking down at a missive on his desk almost nervously, “We found orders in the Mine. They mention Maddox…. A name I did not expect to hear.”

“Another voice from your past?” She made her voice fluctuate, teasingly ominous.  
  
“In a way,” The Commander ducked his head before looking up at her through his lashed, “This is—complicated.”  
  
“Why don’t you have a chair in here?” She noted, distractedly, glancing around as if to see he had moved it into a corner somewhere.  
  
  
“Maddox was a Mage in Kirkwall’s Circle. Samson smuggled letters between him and his sweetheart,” Cullen went on as if she hadn’t asked a question.

“Eventually Samson was caught: that’s why he was cast out of the Order,” He gestured as if this was an obvious statement to Elie, “Maddox was made Tranquil, and became quite the skilled craftsman of magical items. Samson must have… rescued him.”  
  
“Having an inside man among Samson’s forces would be invaluable,” She suggested with a shrug, “ _If_ we could convince him. Why no chair?”  
  
“I couldn’t say,” Elie was confused for a moment, but he continued, “I’ve lived around Tranquil most of my life, and I’ve never understood them.”

“It seems Maddox built Samson’s armor, and maintains it still,” Cullen now paced as he thought aloud, “Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments— _supplies_ we can _trace_.”

“Oh?” Elie struggled and failed to stifle the smile that emerged when the Commander looked at her with revelation.  
  
“I can have our men kick down some doors, Inquisitor—”  
  
“—Elie—” She corrected, but was unnoticed.  
  
“Samson’s armor might lead us straight to his stronghold,” Cullen was near-beaming with excitement.

“Alright, do your thing,” She nodded, reaching out a hand to stop him pacing again, “But Cullen—?” 

“Yes, Inqu—Sorry. Elie?” He flushed again, wide-eyed.  


“Why. Don’t. You. Have. A. Chair?”

“O-oh, forgive me,” He faltered for a moment, looking at his desk again, sheepishly, “I suppose I am just used to being on my feet. Being in the Order and whatnot.”

Eliana let a small laugh and hopped off the desk, tugging at the arm her hand was on.  
  
“In that case, take a walk with me,” She smiled, releasing him once they got to the door. 

They walked the ramparts in silence for a moment, passing the usual trickle of Scouts and Soldiers heading this way or that. Cullen stopped, looking out across the innumerable mountains around them, and taking a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. Eliana leaned her hip against the wall beside him, noting the gold and mauve of the late afternoon in the pale blue sky.  


“I wanted to thank you….When you came to see me—” Cullen started, stumbling over his thoughts, “If there’s anything….”

He huffed, shaking his head, before peeking over at Elie’s amused-yet-encouraging expression

“This sounded much better in my head,” His crimson-faced embarrassment was emphasized when he rubbed the back of his neck, looking out and away.

“I trust you’re feeling better, then?” She smiled bumping her hip into him before settling back against the stone.

“I…yes.”

“Is it always that bad?” Her tone softened at his ashamed flinch.

“The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel like I’m back there….” Cullen sighed, “I shouldn’t have pushed myself so far that day.”

“Skyhold _probably_ won’t fall apart if you take an hour for yourself now and then,” She looked at him intently, and then a grin broke over her face, “I mean, not _entirely_ , anyway.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He chuckled slightly, turned to rest his elbows on the wall.  


“I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. “I was…not myself after that,” The Commander pursed his lips for a second, exaggerating the scar there, “I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me.”

“We’ve all got something we’re not proud of,” Elie murmured, not meeting his gaze when he looked at her.

“Well, now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened,” His voice was gentle, encouraging, “It’s a start.”

“Cullen, you’re a better person than you give yourself credit for,” She chided him, but she tilted her head in her unique, softening way.

“I appreciate the thought, but I know who I am,” Something about the resolve in his amber-eyed stare made her stomach flutter—but then he looked away, blushing again.

“Anyway, I meant to thank you, not trouble you further,” He ended the topic of himself, “You have enough to worry about.”  
  
“You are never trouble, Cullen, don’t say nonsense like that,” Eliana swatted him playfully. 

“Well, how about you?” He ducked his head, gesturing to her, “How are you holding up?”  
  
“I have good people here. Knowing my friends are at my back,” She turned, smiling out towards the courtyard, “It helps.”  
  
“You _certainly_ keep interesting company,” Cullen laughed, “I suppose, though, so do I.”  
  
“I like my Inquisition how I like my parties,” She bumped him with her hip again, chuckling, “Half-drunk, mostly mad, and without a dull moment.”

“You are entirely something else,” Cullen seemed to regret the words the second they left his mouth, but she just tossed her head back with laughter.

“I will take that as a compliment, Commander,” She leaned forward and tugged him down by his armor, planting a kiss on his cheek.  


“I’ll see you at dinner, Cullen,” She smiled, sauntering towards the stairs down to the courtyard. Her girlish grin faded though, when she saw Solas standing on the catwalk terrace, arms folded and expression blank.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Hahren: Elder, teacher  
> Ma te’lath em: Do you not love me  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Ar lath ma, u: I love you, alone   
> Ma' Halevune: My Moonfox  
> Ma’ Fen: My Wolf  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish


	64. Effects of Repression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Varric gets a visitor,**  
>  **blah-blah-blah,**  
>  **almost awkward moment,**  
>  **shit gets serious.**  
>  (it's 4:22 am, and I haven't the energy for a summary, I'm sorry!)
> 
>  
> 
> ***Note: All the translations are at the top this time!!**  
>  **AND TWO BONUS SKETCHES!!!!**  
>   
> 
> ❤Thank you for your patience!❤  
> I've been struggling exceptionally  
> hard with my mental health as of late.  
> I hope this chapter isn't too boring,  
> and is long enough to satisfy!!  
>  **❤ My endless and eternal love! Muah!!! ❤**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Vin: Yes, Affirmative  
> Da'len: Little One  
> Ma’ Fen: My Wolf
> 
> * * *

   
  
Solas had seen Eliana with the Commander, but it was just flirting, nothing he truly took seriously—not when there were bigger issues at hand. 

“Vhenan,” He met her on the stairs to the Hall; her guard was immediately up, expression defensive, “It would seem Varric has a guest—”  
  
She stood up on her tiptoes to peek over the Apostate’s shoulder, brows raised with curiosity  
  
“Yes, and?” She lowered herself, meeting Solas’s gaze with a bemused smile.  
  
“His guest has—rather, _we_ have—a problem.”  
  
He pursed his lips, punctuating his concern; her brow furrowed in response as she leaned around him, eyeing Varric and the— _notably attractive, even for a dwarf—_ hooded feminine figure facing him. Putting on her most casual, polite smile, Eliana slowly walked around Solas towards the couple standing by the fire, as if she were just happening by.

  
“I appreciate the warning, but you shouldn’t have come here yourself,” Varric was more irritated than when Sera had insulted his crossbow, “What if the Guild found out? Dr. Whatshisname?”

“Are you worrying for me? Or yourself?” The lady dwarf, whose identity Solas had already puzzled together, smirked cheekily at Master Tethras.

“Little column A, little column B,” Varric conceded with a small smile, and a barely-noticeable blush, “ _I_ am the expendable one, after all.”

“Awe, don’t worry,” His companion cooed, “I’ll protect you. We’ll just have to—”  
  
  
She stopped short as Eliana’s approach was finally noticed. The petite dwarfess eyed Elie’s long, pointed ears and tattooed face with an expression Solas couldn’t quite place. Halesta, for her part, smiled pleasantly with wide-eyed simplicity.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise?” Varric’s guest nodded slightly, not appearing very surprised, “The Inquisitor, right? Bianca Davri, at your service.” 

“Please, call me Eliana,” His Vhenan still flinched at the title, “A friend of Varric’s, I presume?”  
  
With Solas’s choked bark of laughter, she rolled her eyes back at him before returning her gaze to the visitor’s face.  
  
“—Pardon me: thoughtless question,” She smiled again before clasping her hands behind her back and rocking forward towards the pair, “ _So_ …why do you both look like cats that got into the cream?” 

“She’s taken a huge risk coming here herself. Probably for both of us,” Varric grumbled, shooting a look at Bianca—The woman, of course. Not the crossbow.  
  
“You’re such a worrier! There's a giant hole in the sky,” Bianca flirtatiously swatted at the Storyteller, “I think the Merchant's Guild has bigger things to think about.”  
 

Varric sighed and looked, defeated, at Elie and Solas as they waited with brows raised, expectantly. 

“Bianca’s got a lead on where Corypheus got his Red Lyrium.” Eliana’s eyes grew slightly sharp as they flicked to the hooded woman’s face.  
  
“The site of Bartrand's Folly—the thaig Varric found—has been leaked,” Bianca’s voice was somehow unsettlingly nonchalant, despite the sneer on her lips, “There’s a Deep Roads entrance in the Hinterlands crawling with strange humans carting out Red Lyrium by the handful.” 

“I assume it was a well-kept secret,” Solas interjected calmly, subtly placing a hand of warning on the small of Eliana’s back, “Who might have revealed the thaig’s location?”

“There were a few people who knew,” Varric shook his head, brow furrowed in thought, “Hirelings from the expedition, a couple close friends—”  
  
“How they found out isn’t important,” Bianca smoothly cut Varric off, “What matters is we know where they are now.”

  
The Apostate catching the nearly-imperceptible flit of suspicion flicker across his Vhenan’s face—the fleeting squint and barest flare of her nostrils—pressed his hand into her back with slightly more pressure, just as she had begun to part her lips.

“We need to deal with this, Inquisitor,” Solas drew Eliana’s gaze as he stepped back and released her, “As long as Corypheus has access to this resource, he maintains the power therein.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Varric nodded, seeming to catch a hint of the unspoken conversation between the two elves.

“I’ll keep an eye on their operation,” Bianca locked her eyes back onto the Inquisitors with unwavering calm, “If you’re interested in shutting it down, you’ve got my help.”

The dwarfess began to saunter towards the exit, but stopped briefly to call over her shoulder. 

“Try not to leave me waiting too long, Varric,” A deliberate purr, “I’ve got my own work to do, you know.”

As the hooded silhouette slipped out into the dusk, Varric sighed; Solas managed to glance over in time to catch another brief flush fill the dwarf’s ruddy face.  
  
“Right. That’s not going to be trouble at all….” The Storyteller did his best to slink away, “Let me know when you want to head to Valammar.” 

“Hold it, Tethras,” Eliana had shifted into Inquisitor-mode at his attempted escape, “About your little ‘ _Lead_ ’….”  
  
“Sure,” Varric shrugged, still endeavoring to side-step away, “The sooner we take care of it, the better.” Elie’s quick, long fingers were on the dwarf’s collar then: stopping him more certainly.

“You trust this lead of hers is real, then,” Solas, momentarily distracted, admired her low, confident tone; the way the slight pout of her lower lip would pucker, just slightly, in the center.  
  
“Bianca is too much of a researcher to pass me information without verifying it first,” Varric shook his head slightly, before cocking a brow at no one in particular, “But if you’re asking if she’d lie to us, maybe set us up? It’s…possible—” 

“Not _likely_ , though!” Master Tethras immediately scrambled at Eliana’s squint; the Inquisitor had crossed her arms over her chest and rolled back onto her heels, body language indicating her doubt.  
  
“I mean, she risked the wrath of the Guild coming here in person, when a message would have sufficed,” Varric looked at Elie with whatever it was about the dwarf that seemed to soften her up, “Whatever she found in Valammar shook her up. That worries me.” 

“Well, it all worries me,” She nudged him sharply with her elbow before offering a wry smile, “Alright, off to the Hinterlands, then.”  
  
“Uh, Foxlette?” Varric ducked his head and eyed Eliana beseechingly.

“Yes, my Stony One?” She quipped in a teasing bastardization of the Apostate’s “ _Child of the Stone”_ locution.

“Is there any chance you could do me a solid and _not_ bring the Seeker along on this one?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Varric’s panicked face drew a chuckle from Solas.  
  
“You, Solas, Dorian, Bull, and I are just taking a quick trip to the Hinterlands,” Elie’s tone of faux-innocence was betrayed by her wicked smile, “Check on the progress in pacifying the territory and re-homing the refugees.”

“No need to drag the Seeker along for that,” Varric nodded vehemently in laughing gratitude. 

“ _But_ —” Eliana’s face grew stern, “You’ll be writing the next installment of Swords and Shields for her.”

“I must have heard that wrong,” Varric dramatically mimed cleaning out an ear, “It sounded like you just said the Seeker read my books.”

“She is quite a devoted fan, actually,” Solas nodded, barely resisting the tickle of a smirk.  
  
“Okay, wait…. We’re talking about the same Cassandra, right?” Varric still looked back and forth between them with disbelief. “Tall, grumpy Seeker, likes stabbing things?”  
  
“The _same_ one you _don’t_ want coming with us to Valammar,” Pointed, the Storyteller took the hint.  
  
“And the _romance serial_?” He sighed, rolling his head back, “That book is easily the worst I've ever written.”  
  
“It can't be that bad,” Eliana shrugged, trying not to smile so widely, “Cass seems to like it.”  
  
“The last issue barely sold enough to pay for the ink!” Varric tossed up his hands, and Elie let out an—Solas could hardly believe he thought the word— _enchanting_ little giggle.

“I will pay for the ink myself,” She patted the dwarf’s shoulder affectionately, “And I guarantee, our trip will be of no interest to her.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Foxlette,” Varric laughed as he shook his head, jokingly sulky as he walked away.

  

“Do you truly intend to let him off the hook so easily, Vhenan?”

Solas followed Eliana into the Rotunda, curious amusement in his tone. She glanced over her shoulder at him briefly.

"Are you suggesting I'm being too soft on him, Hahren?" A small smile was in her voice, somehow slightly musical. 

Lessening the distance between them, Solas distractedly lifted the cascade of locks spilling down her back, and placed a tender kiss to the scars on her neck. Elie gathered the hair from his hands and pulled it over her shoulder as she hopped up onto his desk. He watched as her fingers combed out small snags and knots, plaiting the mass of loose ringlets into a messy braid. Standing back, he took in her ease of posture: one leg tucked under her, the other slender foot dangling as she stared absently out of the open catwalk door. Her eyes were on the stars beginning to shine through the haze of twilight. Solas found himself smiling slightly as the cool evening air swept in; lifting a stray strand of silvery hair to flit across her face, quickly caught in her fingers and tucked behind an ear.   
  
            _She is much too comfortable…. A reminder to stay alert may be best._

"How is your Commander's health progressing?" His tone was calm, though slightly stern.

The desired effect was instant: Solas watched as the flush crept across her moonsilk cheekbone and up to the tips of Eliana's ears. She slowly turned to face him, her expression a mask of careful temperance—though her eyes were guarded.

"Cullen says he's feeling better," The confident _Inquisitor voice_ returned, "And his appearance is much improved, no doubt thanks to your droughts." 

Solas took a step forward, hands clasped behind him and straightened shoulders; now close enough to feel the sudden waves of heat radiating off her body. She held his stare, chin up and defiant.   
      
_She is far too dangerously lovely._

"So, the kiss was just an extra precaution?" He leaned down, nearing his face to hers; the low, smooth timbre of his voice visibly raised gooseflesh along the side of her neck.

"Solas—!" Eliana’s voice was sincerely indignant, but it shook slightly as Solas lowered his face towards the base of her ear.

"Vin, da'len?" A slight growl in his voice, his lips brushing along her delicate neck.

"It was—ah—just a...." Elie trailed off, struggling to concentrate until he prompted her with a hum, "A—a gesture—mm—of support—!" 

Pulling back to catch her brief look of bewilderment, Solas let out a chuckle. His little game quickly dawned on her though, and, letting out a snarling hiss, she pushed him away. Just as she escaped him, they were interrupted by sound of Dorian, amused and theatrically clearing his throat.

  
“If you two are _hungry_ ,” the Tevene smirked, “I believe dinner is ready.” 

 

* * *

 

So he wants to make a sport of me? I wonder how ma’ Fen likes the taste of his own medicine.  
  
  
Eliana immediately exited the Rotunda and split away from Solas and Dorian—though not before the latter cocked a knowing brow at her. She focused on maintaining her usual, ambling gait as she bee-lined towards the tables closer to the Dais, where Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen sat most often.  
  
“Room for one more?” She slid into the chair next to Cullen, grinning at her advisors. 

“O-of course, please,” Cullen stumbled, immediately moving to stand, but Elie swatted at him and gave him her stern, don’t-start-that-nonsense look.  
  
_“A Lover’s spat, perhaps?”_  
“Or a ménage à trois? The Tevene—”  
  
  
Though the comments were, ( _at best!_ ) stage-whispers, she pretended not to hear the two undoubtedly Orlesian nobles sitting on the opposite side of the Ambassador. Leliana, though, had paused with her spoon halfway to her lips, and was staring Eliana down with a single brow raised. The Inquisitor raised her own in response ( _Leli, I swear...._ ) before the Nightingale continued eating. 

“Inquisitor, allow me to acquaint you with our guests,” Josephine, not having missed the looks, graciously gestured to the masked gentleman beside her, “Lord Esmeral Abernache, may I introduce our Lady Inquisitor, Eliana Lavellan.”  
  
“Lady Herald, it is an honor,” The man stood and gave a flourished bow, to which Elie merely nodded and extended her hand; surprising the Lord by firmly shaking once before releasing him.

“And this, Inquisitor, is the Vicomtesse Elodie de Morreau, Madame Vivienne’s dear friend,” Josephine introduced the lace-masked woman next to Abernache, whom copied Eliana’s nod and handshake with a smirk.

“Oh, Josephine, darling,” her thick Orlesian lilt was sweet enough to make Elie’s teeth ache, “I should think you and I are dear friends now, as well! Pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor.”  
  
“You might recall, the Vicomtesse assisted us regarding the Comte de Mourier, Inquisitor?” Leliana tactfully led, having caught Eliana’s eye.  
  
“Ah yes, the Empress’s relation. As well as leading us to Marquise Courtemance, I believe?” Elie cooed to the Comtesse; now thorough trained in The Game.  
  
“I can’t convey the depth of our gratitude,” She gave Elodie de Morreau her most charming _Diplomat Josie_ pose, “You saved the reputation of the Inquisition at our most vulnerable.”

“I _do_ believe I helped too, darling.”  
  
The relief of Vivienne’s velvet voice, declaring at her back, washed over Eliana like warm water. She turned to face the statuesque Enchanter with genuine smile, and as Viv leaned down to greet her, gave a sly wink: assuring the Inquisitor she would no longer be obligated to play-pretend for the Orlesians.

“Madame V, you _know_ we would be a mess without you,” She placed a kiss on each side of her Iron Lady’s face—mouthing a _“thank you”_ when hidden from the view of their guests, “Not to mention, much more poorly outfitted.” 

“You are not kidding, dear,” Viv quipped back smugly as she rounded the table; sitting alongside her Courtly acquaintances and distracting entirely from Leliana, Cullen, and Elie.  
  
  
Eliana turned herself to face Cullen, meeting his wide-eyes and painfully forced smile with her own desperate expression of discomfort in the current social situation. They simultaneously glanced over to Leliana, who—though her face was emotionless—had a wicked glint in her eye. 

“Oh my, Inquisitor,” the Nightingale suddenly straightened, eyes wide, “I cannot believe—I forgot to call the Counsel! I received several, potentially critical missives today.”  
  
“Are they time-sensitive?” Elie didn’t miss a beat, furrowing her brow with concern.  
  
“Only if we still want to stand a chance stopping Corypheus,” Leliana’s deadpan was, to Eliana’s surprise, extremely convincing.  
  
“What—?” Cullen looked between the two women, confused.  
  
“Just meet me in the War Room, I’ll go grab the documents,” The Nightingale was already on her feet, “And bring your dinners. This might take all night.”  
  
  
Elie handed Leli and her plates to the still-baffled Commander and nudged him towards the door. Turning back to the table, ignoring the subtly perceptive smiles of Vivienne and Josephine, she dipped into a deep, graceful bow.

“Vicomtesse de Morreau, Lord Abernache, my deepest apologies,” Mentally thankful for all those months of perfecting false-sincerity, “I beg you will forgive our rudeness; I am failing my duties as a Host—”

“Eliana, darling, we are at war,” Madame de Fur smoothly interjected, “I am certain our friends understand that you are, first and foremost, the leader of the Inquisition.”

“Of course, Lady Herald, we daren’t impede your work,” Abernache spoke up, “You are our one hope against this Corypheus menace.”

“Thank you, my Lord. Vicomtesse, I earnestly beg your pardon—”  
  
“My Lord and dearest Vivienne have already said it best, Inquisitor,” Eliana truly couldn’t tell whether or not the Orlesian was being sincere, “No forgiveness is necessary—you are a very busy woman!”

“I merely hope that we all may have a better opportunity to get to know one another in the future,” Elie gave her most heartfelt-sounding adieu.

“Inquisitor, if you don’t mind, I should like to remain, unless you think I’m needed,” Her Ambassador, ever coming to her rescue, contributed the sacrifice of filling in as Hostess.

“Josie, you work tirelessly,” Elie shook her head, gazing with sincere affection at the Antivan, “Please, stay and enjoy the company of our friends. I’ll send for you should we require your delicate touch.”  
  
“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine let a dimpled grin slip, just for a moment, “Thank you.” 

The Inquisitor bowed again, with added gratitude, and excused herself as she straightened and smoothed her blouse; walking straight towards the War Room without so much as a glance back around the Hall.

The moment the door to Josie’s office was closed behind her, she saw Cullen standing in wait by the fire, the furrow of misunderstanding remaining on his brow. Eliana placed a finger over her lips so he wouldn’t speak, and taking her plate in one hand and his hand in the other, began running. They moved as quietly as possible through the next door, but she was already failing to stifle her giggles as they jogged down the crumbling stone hall—which started the bewildered Commander snickering too. When they finally slammed closed the double doors behind them, the pair were already bent over with laughter.  
  
“W-wha—” Cullen struggled to speak as he gasped for air, “Was a-all that _really_ j-just to get away from…?”

He trailed off, out of breath and setting Leliana’s and his plates on the floor by the hearth, before plodding himself down on the stone floor.

“U—uh-huh!” Elie managed back, still shaking from laughter as she followed suit and collapsed beside him.

“Did you...two...plan?” The Commander began again, but she swatted at him and shook her head, struggling to calm herself enough to breathe again, and he stilled himself.

“Nope! That was _all_ Nightingale,” She shook her head, grinning, but realized he was looking at her, she rolled her head to meet his eyes.  
  
“But you just went with it, like you knew!” He was laughing, looking at her with something like awe. 

“Our Spymaster is _very_ convincing. And scary,” Eliana looked up and wiped at her watering eyes, realizing her cheeks had begun to ache, “At first, I wasn’t sure if she was serious or not, but then, c’mon.”  
  
“Leliana _forget_ to call Counsel,” She started rubbing her cheeks as she let her head loll back to look at him, “Over something allegedly _that_ important?  No way.”

Cullen was still smiling, but it had softened slightly, and the look in his eye wasn’t something familiar enough for Eliana to place. It only lasted a moment though, until her words sunk in and he smacked a palm against his forehead as he faced the ceiling, chuckling again.  
  
“ _That_ is an _excellent_ point! Why didn’t that occur to me?” He looked at her again, crooked grin across his handsome face, “That is why you’re the Inquisitor, and I am a meat-headed soldier.”  
  
She leaned up on her elbow with pursed lips, and shook her head at him.

“No, there really is no legitimate reason for me to still be in charge,” She stared with a creased brow at her fingers as she traced the creases where stones joined beneath them, “We know now that I’m not Andraste’s Herald: I’m just a Dalish knife-ear, with no family left. An outcast of her own Clan. I don’t even have experience leading a hunt—nevermind an army….”  
  
  
“Elie,” Cullen’s firm broke Eliana’s trance and she looked up to see he had sat up; resting on his own elbow so he mirrored her position, his sunlit amber eyes staring at her— _into_ her, somehow.  
  
“You are a Dalish elf, who has been adopted by a new family. And, I mean by all of Thedas, **_not_** just your group of rebels and oddballs,” the Commander smiled, “—All of which, by the way, sought _you,_ out wanting to help…. Well, save for Blackwall, but he joined up anyway, didn’t he?”

“You made your own family, your own Clan, merely by being yourself. And you’ve been leading like you were born to be Inquisitor; I can’t imagine any of the rest of us managing half as well!”

  
Cullen laughed like he was trying to tell a good joke, unable to stop from cracking before the punch line. Elie realized how much she liked his laugh. It was warm and bright: the kind of sound that brought to mind the sun on her face, lying with closed eyes on a summer day. She shifted to lie back down, but still facing him; she didn’t realize she was smiling.  
  
“I mean—can you imagine _me_ trying to lead? The Inquisition wouldn’t have lasted through the attack on Haven!” He snorted, rolling towards her and nearly onto his stomach, covering his eyes at the imagined embarrassment.

“Oh, nonsense!” Surprised to find her voice, while maintaining her intended teasing cadence, had emerged a whisper—undoubtedly due to his face now being so close to her own.

She could feel the instant heat rising to her cheeks as the Commander slowly uncovered his eyes. His gaze was too affectionate— _too heated_. She instantly sat up, averting her eyes. Luckily, it was then that Leliana entered, carrying a stack of papers. Nightingale’s eyes searched briefly to find them on the floor, looking at Cullen first, and for a second too long.  
  
When the Spymaster met Eliana’s gaze, it was with an amused glint, telling Elie that Cullen’s expression had betrayed them both. The woman hadn’t even paused though, and immediately joined them on the floor, allowing them to pretend she hadn’t noticed. Leliana immediately set the stack beside her and reached for her bowl of soup.

“So, we actually _do_ have something on Corypheus?” Eliana raised her brow, eyeing the stack with slight indolence.

“Nothing more than we had at the morning meeting, but I couldn’t walk through the Hall empty-handed, could I?” Leliana chuckled, nodding her head towards the heap, “These are merely reports we’ve deemed low-priority.”  
  
“If we split them in thirds, we could re-review them,” Cullen offered as he sat up, as crimson-faced as Elie had assumed, “It has been a while, and perhaps we’ll find something that is now more important than we knew.”

“Ugh, and here I had thought we were _avoiding_ tedium,” Eliana groaned as she accepted the portion Cullen offered and Leliana chuckled. 

“Blame the Commander,” Leli answered, “I just needed a prop!”  
  
“Bastard!” Eliana gently elbowed Cullen in the ribs as a mock punishment, not looking up from her work but grinning widely.

 He chuckled in response, and she could feel his tension subside. The three sat and thumbed through reports, re-prioritizing, occasionally talking or joking. Eliana hadn’t how much time had passed until she heard Cullen’s yawn, looking up to see Leliana had curled up and fallen asleep with her stack as a pillow.  
  
  
“Awe, look,” Whispering as Cullen chucked quietly, “She looks… _slightly_ less terrifying.”

“I suppose it’s later than I thought,” The Commander stood, stretching slightly, “We should get some sleep.”  
  
“What do we do with Sleeping Beauty?” Elie gathered her stack and stood, arching, a relieving series of pops run down her spine, “We can’t just leave her here.”  
  
“I’ll carry her up to the Rookery,” Cullen placed the missives on the corner of the map table, “She has a bedroll tucked away up there.”  
  
“I’ll come with you. I’m sure Solas is still awake, working on his fresco.”

She caught the Commander’s fleeting flinch as he nodded, lifting Leliana off the floor with a groan. She felt a wave of guilt, knowing she was often not careful enough with his emotions—she was a natural flirt, and—if she was being honest…. 

_He really is just too pretty. And he blushes so easily: it’s adorable._

“Cullen, I—”

“Elie, stop,” He looked at her, his honey-amber eyes holding both a smile and a faint sadness, “I meant every word. You are Maker-sent…Creators-sent, maybe. We are— _I_ am—grateful for you.”

She couldn’t do more than nod and offer a tight-lipped smile in thanks. Somehow his kindness only made it worse: the heart-felt words had an almost defeated ring to them. Eliana sighed inwardly and followed him out of the War Room; a tiny shadow shuffling along behind his tall, broad figure with a combination of exhaustion and shame.

 

 

* * *

 

Solas was reclined on his divan, attempting to divert his irritation with one of Varric’s crime serials, when Eliana opened the Hall door. She stood back, allowing Cullen to pass through first; the Commander carried the unconscious Nightingale towards the stairs with a polite nod in the Apostate’s direction. Solas returned the gesture, brow furrowed with confusion, before turning his attention to the approaching Inquisitor.

“I hoped you’d still be awake,” She looked exhausted and markedly melancholy, “What’re you reading?” 

“ _The Viper's Nest_ ,” Aloof and almost cold, he lowered his eyes back to the book, “An opus by our Master Tethras.”  
  
“Oh. Any good?” She tried so hard to sound pleasant, but the undercurrent of some obscure pain made his chest feel tight.  
  
  
He looked up at her again with scrutiny: her body slouched and her face appeared somewhat older, as if the stress of the past— _almost two?—y_ ears had only just shown affect on her. She subtly grasped tightly at her forearm, as if it were a tourniquet, able to prevent the pain of the Anchor from spreading. It occurred to him that, truly, the Mark should have progressed far more by now.

_It is beginning to kill her, and I failed to noticed. How could anyone hide such pain so well? How could anyone be so strong? And how has_ **she** _managed to slow it?_

“You are in pain.”

“It’s nothing, really,” She realized his attention and released her arm, “I’m just tired, really—”

"It was not a question,” He set his book aside, reaching for her arm, “Come here.”

 “No, I—”

  
She suddenly fell to her knees, a small cry of pain slipping from her lips before losing consciousness, just as the Commander returned from the stairwell.  
  
“Solas?” Cullen called out, but the Apostate was already kneeling over her, “What happened?”  
  
“It is the Anchor,” Solas maintained his calm tone as he examined her hand, “She has been hiding the pain, and so I have failed to notice her need for treatment.”  
  
“Can you fix it?” The Commander met his eyes—not with the expected anger—but with a pleading desperation.

“I—” Solas hesitated a beat, “Yes, I believe so. I am going to take her to her quarters: I really must begin right away.”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Cullen nodded earnestly, eyes wide with actual fear as he watched the Apostate lift Elie’s lifeless body and move hurriedly towards the door.

“And Solas?” He stopped dead, preparing for the threat, turned to face the Commander.

“She truly loves you,” Taking him aback, the Commander’s face was kind, even if hopelessly crestfallen, “And I know you love her. Thank you for this. For all you do for her—for us all.”

Solas nodded, holding the man’s eyes in an attempt to convey his gratitude, before they both turned and walked out of the Rotunda.  
  


* * *

  
                           
  
 **Elie & Da'assan!!!!!**  
  
  
             
  


 

 


	65. Anchors, Pins and Needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****  
> SMUT & panic & FLUFF  
>  
> 
> I am terribly sorry for the brevity, but I was struggling my  
> way through this whole chapter, I just needed to finish it.  
> Plus, I had a pile of work to do that came in abruptly.  
> FORGIVE ME?!
> 
>  
> 
> **I love you ALL, thank you for your patience,**  
>  **support, and continued audience. You're all**  
>  **my Lil Angelbabies! Muah! xoxoxo ❤❤❤**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> Da’len: Little One, Child (context denotes condescension/irritation)  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
> Asa lath: Her love (Asa= possessive, whereas Ash= objective/3rd person)  
> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, my apologies.  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Ma’ tune da’len: My delicate little one  
> Ame danemah ma: I am going to/about to break/shatter you  
> Fen’Harel ma’ vera: Dread Wolf take me  
> Ma serannas, Falon: Thank you, (close/dear) friend  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Da’halevunere: (my) Little Moonfox (-re is a possessive modifier)
> 
> * * *

  
Eliana stirred from dreams of wolf packs to find Solas sitting cross-legged alongside her. They were on her bed: he was holding her hand and staring, frustrated, into the Mark.

"What happened?" She wearily tried to right herself, but Solas pushed her back against her pillows firmly.

"You have been lying to me," His nostrils flared, his voice was cold, and he still hadn't met her eyes, "You have been hiding your pain, delaying any preventative measures I might have taken to halt the spread of the Anchor's eating away at you."

"So what?" She looked at him sharply, no longer groggy and unaware, "You going to amputate my hand or..?"

"Luckily for you, da'len," he sneered finally raising his icy gaze to hers, "It has not reached that state. Yet."

            _How do his eyes grow so dark when angry, but persist to be so chilling?_

“But it will,” She stated it blankly, the barest hint of scorn in her eyes.

“I do not know for sure. But if you cannot lay aside your pride,” Solas seemed to soften suddenly, directing his attention back to the green glow in her palm, “I will be forced to mandate weekly checks on it. You nearly scared your Commander to death.”  
  
“Will you stop with that whole ‘ _your Commander’_ nonsense?” She chewed gently on her bottom lip, brow furrowed, “It’s just Cullen. He’s my friend.”  
  
“I know, Vhenan,” Solas finally sighed as he looked up at her again, his eyes clear enough to see “I did not mean it otherwise. But he _is **your** Commander_ : the Inquisition’s Commander.”  
  
She didn’t say anything, merely watched him trace unfamiliar runes into the humming glow of—what she had come to think of as—the small tear into the Veil seated in her hand. It hummed to Solas’s touch like no other stimuli: even a nearby Rift was more of a bristle, whereas the Anchor seemed to practically purr for the Apostate. She often forgot how entangled in this he truly was….

“How long have I been out?” Rather overcome by her awareness and its frustrating lack of presence in regards to _asa lath_ ; she looked around and noted the still-dark sky

“A mere few hours. Dawn is not for several more yet,” Maintaining kinder tone successfully, he glanced up at her again, “Master Tethras would like to leave by lunch—though, from what I could determine, no earlier. You should be have no trouble sleeping in.”  
  
“I apologize if I caused a scene,” Murmuring, she imagined her fainting and blushed, embarrassed, “And for not telling you.”

Solas cocked a brow in confusion, the most fleeting spark of hurt in his eyes.  
  
“—About the pain, from the Mark, I mean,” She corrected almost monotonously, too emotionally drained to indulge his jealous pout.

To her impress, though, this seemed just the clarification he was had required. He squinted at her, just slightly, and tilted his head minutely; his lips tightened into a small crooked smile that tucked the corner into a single, creased cheek. She hadn’t noticed quite noticed before, but his skin was so much more tanned compared to her own; she ran her eyes over his cheekbones and nose, admiring— _Creators_ _help me—_ the faint freckles found sprinkled across.

“Why did you allow it to go on so long without mention?” Ever graceful, he lifted himself up to sit next her, still holding her hand.

“I don’t know; I suppose I didn’t want anyone to worry,” Elie half-shrugged, looking down at their fingers, now laced together, “I’m supposed to be the solution, here.”

“You did not tell _me_ ,” Emphasizing, he lifted her chin so she would meet his gaze, “I would not have betrayed your secret if you had asked me not to.” 

_The way the Mark reaches for you, how you soothe it when no others can: both very good reasons for me to remind you of it as infrequently as possible._  


“Ir abelas, Hahren,” She shook her head, as though ashamed, “You’re right, as usual.”

 “The fault is mine for not noticing sooner.”  
  
He was slightly grimmer, but then he looked at her with a face that reminded Eliana of Deshanna—The slight smirk she would receive when the Keeper caught her and Laleal doing something they shouldn’t have, as a warning and an offer: that, should they stop right then, Deshanna wouldn’t punish them.  


“No one expects you to be impervious to pain, Vhenan. Even the Commander is aware, it is impossible to be strong _all_ of the time,” Solas purred teasingly, “At least _he_ seeks out a Healer when he is in pain.”

“He is not… _involved_ with his Healer,” She mock-glared at him.  
  
“Which, one would surmise, would make it more difficult for him to do so,” The Apostate barely prevented his face from breaking into a cocky grin.  
  
“Keeping his professional and personal life separate is easy for him,” Elie rolled her eyes, “He doesn’t _have_ a personal life, just work. They’re the same thing.”

“Admittedly, we are not very proficient at it, ourselves,” Solas chuckled, leaning down to press his lips to her neck and drawing a soft whimper from her.

She could feel his teeth on her skin: smiling at her reaction—and then he was biting down hard, and rewarding him with a sob. He slipped beneath the blanket drawn over her, lifting the down-stuffed coverlet to reveal he had changed her into one of her nightshirts before laying her in bed. His fingers, cool from the chill of the room, left a trail of gooseflesh as they glided up her shirt, following the curves of her sides. She giggled, squirming in a half-hearted attempt to get away from him, and he chuckled into her hair as he slid his arm beneath her arched back, enveloping her small form in an inescapable grip.

Wrapping his long legs around hers, Solas pulled Eliana towards him, so her back rested flush against the length of his body, his hips pressing inflexibly into her ass. She hummed in delight before he barely brushed the silk of his lips along the powder blue veins visible through the delicate skin her exposed neck. The skimming of her throat without actual contact—it was maddening; Elie writhed against him, unable to move much in the cage of his arms while he quietly snickered. The warm moisture of his breath only frustrated her more, but just as she was on the verge of begging for something, anything, else—he bit her again.

 

Her body stiffened instantly in response as he firmly sketched small circles with his tongue over tender flesh, muscle, and sinew. She mewled for him, now. He loosened his hold, one hand drifting beneath her nightshirt to dig into her hip, while he tangled the other in her curls, pulling her head backwards roughly. Eliana moaned loudly, a slight growl in the back of her throat, and rolled her hips against him. He slipped a leg between her thighs, managing to pin one of her legs bent-knee with his own, leaving her thighs spread wide and her pulse, a hummingbird, felt beating under every inch of skin.  
  
Solas languidly ran his hand over the smooth flesh of her stomach, flitting over her smalls before drawing meanderingly on the tender moonsilk of her inner thighs; slight, thrilling jolts of electricity trailing his fingertips as they grazed the fabric of her underclothes…not close enough for satisfaction, but further heightening Elie’s impatient frenzy. At last, he allowed a single finger to stroke up the centerline of her smalls. The slightest of shocks struck her clit, a crystal clear “ _Oh,_ ” tumbling from her parted lips, as Eliana’s body fell into convulsions.  
  
But he wasn’t done with her yet—sliding his long, elegant fingers beneath the band, Solas groaned with want at the warm, slick dew he found. She nearly went over the edge again as he tore her smallclothes from her body in one, swift movement: shifting into something feral and unrestrained, his grip on her hair tightening. He held Elie against him despite the arch of her spine, driving two digits into her, growling when she moaned his name. The heel of his hand rested against her clit, and she found herself grinding wantonly against his palm while Solas watched her, like cat with its squirming prey. He _enjoyed_ her need—somewhere in the back of her mind, it occurred to her—he relished her violent desperation.  
  
He was lifting her, then—dragging her to the edge of the bed, so she was bent over at the waist, barely maintaining balance by standing on tiptoe. He bore her weight as he leaned forward: leaving a path of kisses from the dimples where her hips met her spine, moving higher until his lips brushed the nape of her neck. His low, pleased hum at her soft whine resonated through her chest. She reached a hand behind her—dragging her nails along the base of his skull in the way she knew he enjoyed—only for his fingers to wrap around her hand and replicating the gesture with her other. Only one of Solas’s hands was needed to encircle both of Elie’s wrists behind her back, and he gently lowered her face to the bed.  
  
  
“Ma’ tune da’len,” His voice was fennec fur on bare skin, “Ame danemah ma….” 

Stated, but his voice trailed off, as though to allow her to protest. 

“Then break me, Hahren,” She managed to look back over her should at him, a challenge in her eyes, “I’m not so delicate as you think—”  
  
His cock abruptly hilted inside her, the air was forced from her lungs. There somehow seemed to be… _more_ of him at this angle; the ache of stretching to accommodate was a familiar, delicious pain, and she was rocking herself slightly from side to side, keening into the mattress. He gave her a moment longer than she had expected—so when he quickly withdrew and thrust in again, the pain was slightly sharper, and her moan, a bit louder. He didn’t pause again, however; swiftly finding a rhythm that was, at once, both rough and artful.  
  
_Fen’Harel ma’ vera!_  
  
  
She was lost more than once in her own bliss, but she felt a hand slide up her back—the way one might run a hand over a marble sculpture, testing and reverent—until his fingers found her locks again, pulling her up towards him, his lips finally— ** _finally_** —on her own. His other hand snaked around her waist, slick with sweat, and pressed the heel of his hand against her clit again; every stroke shifting her against him, inching her closer—

  
Her vision then was enveloped by white light, as searing pain entwined with blinding ecstasy. She heard someone calling out, but she couldn’t put a name to the voice, and it all felt very dim and far away….  
  


* * *

Solas was on the verge of panic. That should not have happened. There was _no possible reason_ for what he had just witnessed. He had met Eliana at their climax, but after she…. He had dressed himself and her, immediately; the likelihood that no one had heard the blast—or the ear-piercing shriek that the Inquisitor had seemed to emit, unconscious, from the bottom of her lungs—was nonexistent.

Only moments later, he heard the panicked knocking on the door and called out for help. He posed himself again at her left hand, having already returned the illusion of modesty to both Elie and himself. All appearing startled awake, Josephine, Dorian, Varric, and a handful of armed Scouts reached the top of the stairs—most of which were still in their nightclothes. 

“What happened?”  
  
Dorian was, of course, the first one to rush over to Eliana’s side, smoothing her hair away from her unconscious face. Josephine stood wide-eyed and mouth-agape: shifting her stare from the splintered mass of wood on the floor, to the new hole in the roof, and back again. Varric, admirably, seemed to take the latter in stride, and led the Ambassador over to the bed, comfortingly patting her hand.  


“The Anchor—it caused her intense pain earlier, leaving her unconscious,” Solas permitted his confusion and panic to show, “Yet, just as I had believed I had allayed some of the Mark’s excess Magic, it….”  
  
He trailed off and his gaze grew slightly unfocused, though his eyes met Dorian’s own searching regard.

“It _what_ , Solas?” The Altus was firm and impatient, but warm with concern; Solas shook his head slightly, redirecting his attention back to the present.

“It appeared to…discharge—” He looked down at the Anchor, brow furrowed with alarm, “Emitting a focused beam of energy.”

“Like, when she closes a Rift?” Varric seemed to grasp what he himself was struggling to convey, “Or the Breach?”

“Yes, similar,” Solas met the Dwarf’s eyes, nodding, “Though—seemingly, in reverse.”

“She’s been _absorbing_ Rift energy?” Voice appalled, Dorian glanced fearfully to Eliana’s closed eyes, her peaceful expression.

“Not _quite_ ,” Solas pointedly eyed the Scouts, still standing at the top of the stairs, “It’s… difficult to explain, though I do have a theory.”

Josephine, having noticed his purposefully glance, at last snapped back to her usual self.

“Well, we will have to temporarily address the Inquisitor’s quarter’s—”

“It just so happens, we’re heading to the Crossroads tomorrow,” Varric offered, shrugging casually, “It’s been a while, so Foxlette wanted to check in on the area.”

“Yes,” Solas used Varric diverting the Ambassador’s attention to catch Dorian’s eye expressively, “So you should have time to make any necessary repairs.”

“In the meantime, could you have a cot brought to the Rotunda?” Dorian added, catching the hint, “There, Solas and I can take shifts with her until morning.”  
  
“Of course, gentlemen,” Josephine curtsied slightly, obviously still not quite awake; she headed back down to bed, shooing the Scouts away ahead of her, and sending one to fetch the cot.

Dorian turned his attention back to Solas: his single, raised brow the only appeal for explanation.

“I believe the Anchor itself is what builds up too much power,” The Apostate explained, gesturing to the now significantly dimmer glow, “It appears more attached to the Veil than the Fade.”  
  
“Imagine the Mark as a spool of thread,” Solas went on, Dorian’s brow furrowed slightly in thought, “And the Veil Rifts as tears in a cloth.”  
  
“That would make Elie’s energy and concentration the needle, no?” The Tevene postulated, following along.  
  
“Yes, precisely. The ‘spool’, though, appears to be regenerating itself,” Solas understood why the man eyed the Anchor nervously, as if it would flare up again at any moment.

“It’s been two months since she’s closed a Rift—since Emprise du Lion,” Dorian worriedly glanced at Elie’s face, “She’s gone longer in the past—and what happens when she’s closed them all?”  
  
“I don’t know….” Solas’s expression darkened slightly, grimly, “I will have to see if there is another way for her to expend the Mark’s energy.”  
  
“I’ll carry her down for you,” Dorian seemed to want to physically touch his closest friend, to assure himself she was—would be—alright, “And then I’ll run up and skim the library for some tomes you might find useful.”  
  
“Ma serannas, Falon,” The Apostate held the Tevene’s eye for a moment, and though the man might not have known the actual translation, Solas could tell he somehow _felt_ the meaning of the words.

Looking up, the two men noticed Varric had been standing quietly, waiting for them as he looked at the little Foxlette with an affectionate sort of fretfulness.  
  
“Master Tethras, might I request a favor from you?” Solas softly started the dwarf out of his trance, “I do not wish to be presumptuous—”

“How can I help, Chuckles?” Varric ventured a brave smile.  
  
“It is probably best that I pack Eliana’s things, as she will doubtless still insist on our departure tomorrow—” Solas ducked his head slightly, uncomfortable asking for anyone to do something so trivial for him….

“Would you mind asking the kitchen to leave a cup of tea on my desk?”

“No problem, Chuckles!” Varric laughed, heading for the stairs, “I was afraid it was going to be actual work—and, no offense, but I need my beauty sleep.”

Dorian scooped up Eliana and followed Master Tethras, smiling weakly at the now-calm Apostate as he started down the steps. 

_Well, lovely. One more issue I failed to take into consideration._  


After gathering as many of her things into her rucksack she might need (or want) for their trip, Solas gave up trying to find Elie’s notebook and headed down to the Rotunda. His tea already awaited him, the Inquisitor remained unconscious in the cot placed in front of his desk, and Dorian could be heard upstairs, rifling through tomes and mumbling under his breath.

Solas took a deep breath before forcing down several mouthfuls of tea, and walked around to kneel at Eliana’s side, checking her pulse with two fingers while sneaking a kiss to her forehead. When Dorian hefted a considerably large stack of volumes and codex, they each settled on the stone floor—unconsciously out of concern for Elie—and began combing each manuscript for anything Solas deemed possibly helpful. 

Several hours must have passed, and he didn’t recall falling asleep or dreaming—yet he woke with a start to Eliana leaning over, watching him with soft bemusement, her hand having nudged his shoulder. He glanced over to see Dorian in a similar pose, draped over a corner at the foot of the cot, asleep.

“What happened, Solas?” Though her whisper and general mien were composed, Eliana’s eyes were sharp, somewhere between chary and tense.

“Vhenan!" He paused, hesitating, anxious about her reaction, her alarm and fear, “The Anchor, it—ah, it released a burst of energy: a beam, actually. It, ah…blasted a hole in your roof."

Solas was completely bewildered when Elie blinked at him—slow, heavy eyelids, long lashes brushing her cheeks—and chuckled. Not panicked, hysterical giggling...just a low, breathy laugh. Her smile was almost sympathetic as she shook her head, reaching out to touch his cheek softly.

 "It was a pretty intense orgasm," she was grinning down at him now, "But don't let it give you a big head, okay?"

 "What—?" Solas shook his head in disbelief.

             _She can't truly think this was related to that?_  


"Solas, relax," Eliana chuckled again as she lowered herself back onto the cot, rolling so her face was close to his, "We've known this thing was going to kill me eventually. And now it doesn't hurt as much, so maybe it'll be fine long enough to defeat Corypheus." 

"You are remarkably unaffected for someone facing their own mortality," Solas smiled sadly, tucking a curl behind her ear.  


"I've been facing it since before the Anchor, ma Fen,” She waved her hand wearily, the Mark glowing more faintly now, “Before all of this."

It wasn't said wistfully or with any twinge of defeat. She looked at him, eyes clear and pupils dilated, her face was open and honest. He felt a hot, aching knot in his chest as he looked at her. Elie was so resigned, and yet, still so determined. She made a face, pursuing her lips and furrowing her brow.

"Can you please come here?" She reached out for his hand, shifting her body closer to him, "Hold me for just a little while?" 

"Ma nuvenin, da’halevunere," He stood, smiling tenderly.  


He walked around and, carefully stepping over Dorian's snoring body. Solas tucked himself into the cot behind her. He allowed himself the relief he felt at wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her rosewater-scented hair. Her breathing slowed, evening out, and he felt the warm sensation of slipping into sleep. 

_It has been a very long time since I have felt so at home._

 


	66. Well, Shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty long, but not too exciting.  
> Don't worry, now that this is out of the way,  
> I get to turn up the heat on the Inquisition.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for you for reading,  
> and your eternal patience with me!  
> It is NOT taken lightly.  
> I'm working hard to update Figures & Frescos,  
> so hopefully I'll be able to repay all of you angels, seven-fold. <3
> 
>  
> 
> Also: I kept it simple on the languages this chapter,  
> but just in case, the translations are in the beginning notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Elvhen:**  
>  Da’assan: Little Arrow  
> Hahren: Elder, Teacher  
> Da’len: Little One  
> Vin: Yes  
> Vhenan: (my) Heart  
>  **Qunlat:**  
>  Kadan: "where the heart lies", friend, person one cares about  
> Parshaara: Enough  
> 

  
Elie woke just after sunrise, feeling— _somehow_ —better than she had in weeks. She smoothly slipped from the cot, untangling her limbs from her still-sleeping Apostate’s, and placing a passing kiss on Dorian’s forehead. She spotted her packed bag, piled neatly next to Solas’s own things and, after a cursory check that her journal was not present ( _Thank Mythal, he didn’t find it!_ ), she lifted it as she stepped out onto the Catwalk balcony. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, focusing on the sharp enlivening sensation of winter’s morning air in her lungs. The moment of meditation was short-lived, though—Elie noticed the usual tingle of the Fade, through Skyhold’s threadbare stretch of Veil, had become more of an itch. 

            _Something is different—or wrong. Hmm_ ….  


After a moment of gauging the intensity of the sensation, she shook off the concern, deciding to ask Solas about it when he arose. She continued across the catwalk and past Cullen’s office before skipping down the stairs, two at a time. Da’assan had already been brought out of the stable and groomed; Master Dennet nodded at Eliana, smiling slightly before returning to his maintenance each of the mount’s hooves and shoes. She walked towards the barn, catching sight of Blackwall as he knocked a dowel into place on his carved rocking griffon toy. She smiled, leaning against the barn door for a moment before he noticed her watching. 

  
“This? This is jus’…somethin’ to keep tha hands busy,” He ducked his head sheepishly, so though embarrassed, “I’m grateful ya tracked me down when ya did; as exciting as wanderin’ tha woodlands was, this is better."

  
“The Inquisition, you mean?”  
Elie looked around, watching the sleep slowly lift from Skyhold.  
   
“It’s good ta be a part of something—somethin’ _important_ ,” He paused slightly, looking at his hands with determination, “Something that could change things.”

“I’m glad you feel so,” Her smile held, though grew a bit taut…. ( _What does that make the Grey Wardens? Chopped liver?)_

“Makes me sound like a Chantry Sister, doesn’ it? Some giddy new ‘nitiate?” He blushed, chuckling as he shook his head, “So be it, I s’ppose: ya’ve earned my loyalty.”  
  
“ _And,_ apparently, your girlish enthusiasm,” Eliana needled, a brow raised in jest.  
 

“ _‘Ya are who ya choose ta follow’,”_ Blackwall looked off towards the dwindling fire behind him, “Someone told me tha’ once; took me years ta understan’ what he meant.” 

“There’s wisdom to it,” She nodded, though she couldn’t quite say she agreed with the aphorism.

“A Chevalier said those words to me,” The Warden’s chest puffed slightly with pride, “Powerful man, but never withou’ honor; a true knight. Met as competitors in tha Grand Tourney.”

“Oh?”

“He lef’ me with tha’ advice before we parted. Pu’ aside his own ambitions ta help me win the Melee,” He sighed, shaking his head, “Don’t think I ever thanked him.”

“Generous of him,” She caught the wry tone in her voice, apparently Blackwall did, too.

“He said I stood ta gain e’erything…while he’d lose nothin’. When it was over, he offered ta mentor me—teach me ta become a Chevalier, like him,” The Warden’s eyes lifted to the sky again, “But I was young an’ stupid; turned him down flat.”

“Mhm,” Eliana chuckled understandingly. It wasn’t too many years ago she had made a similar, immature decision.

“ _I’d_ just won _tha Melee_ at _tha Grand Tourney!_ I didn’t _need him,_ ” Blackwall scoffed at himself, “I shoulda gone with him. Perhaps things would’ve turned out different.”

  
“Well, _‘different_ ’ and _‘better’_ rarely amount to the same thing,” Eliana nudged herself upright and walked towards the work bench, running her fingertips over the carving's smooth wood grain.  
“But—and, I could be wrong—” She grinned, apologetically facetious, “I’m not sure if your being a Chevalier would have stopped Corypheus tearing a hole in the sky.”

“I _was_ gonna say that, in this case, I think it’d ‘ave been better,” Blackwall roared a rumbling, belly-laugh, “But yer probably right! I’m older now, though—an’ hopefully, wiser. I think I’ve chosen tha righ’ person ta walk with.”

“Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself there!” Elie laughed doubtfully as she walked back to scoop up her rucksack; but her self-consciousness was easily masked as she began Da’assan’s fastenings.   
  
            _Talk about the blind leading the blind…._

* * *

   
Solas watched as Elie absently ran her tongue across her bottom lip before pressing both slightly chapped lips together: slipping into a trance at the wet shine now glazing her mouth, and the lazy roll of her hips with every step of her mount. He allowed himself to watch a slender finger twist a loose ringlet and lift it off of her neck—beaded with sweat from the sun—to tuck back into the mess of hair knotted atop her head. It was a pleasant sight, after all.  
 

“Hahren?”  
  
The word came as a purr, curling up around his ear. He had always had enjoyed timbre she gave to the honorific.

            **_Haah-rrrenn…_** _._   
  
  
Without looking up from the reports in her lap, she had caught him. He smiled inwardly, rather pleased she had noticed.  
   
“Vin, da’len?”  
  
When she glanced up through her lashes at him, he merely softened his already passive expression.  
  
“Why are you watching me? I can _feel_ it, you know,” She half-heartedly attempted to disguise her blush with a kittenish chiding.    
  


“You are slouching,” Gratified instantly by Eliana’s pout, Solas felt the smirk curling at one corner of his mouth and resisted, “Poor posture will only lend to your saddle aches.” 

Elie slid down with a simper and lifted her feet from the stirrups, propping them on the saddle horn; her back curved neatly against the seat, and the cantle roll cradled her head as she smugly returned to her attention to the reports.

“C’mon, Little Bit,” Varric droned back over his shoulder, seeming less and less himself with each mile, “Now you’re just showing off.”

“How do you even manage to keep your balance, Dove?” Dorian chirped, stirring the pot and enjoying the show of Solas’s ‘ _Unheeded Elder’_ expression.  
   
“Da’assan does most of it for me, my Peach,” She cooed back as she patted the horse’s rump, her voice as sugar-sweet as if oblivious to her Vhenan’s increasing annoyance.

“ _Parshaara_ , Kadan,” Bull hissed as he swat at Dorian, “Don’t encourage her; picking a fight between _them_ , just so you’ll have something to watch.”

Solas turned inadvertently in disbelief—and, meeting Bull’s nod of apology, murmured a gentle ‘ _Ma serannas’;_ caught so unexpectedly by the Qunari’s comment and gesture, he barely noticed Dorian’s sheepish shrug when turning to face forward again.   
  
Everyone had been especially considerate ( _for once_ ) on this excursion, mostly for the sake of Master Tethras’s quickly deteriorating patience—and yet, it occurred to the Apostate, that his relationship with the Inquisitor had been regarded, as well, somehow… _particularly_. Though, precisely how or why, he couldn’t puzzle out.   


“…Hahren?”  
  
Smoky silken music, softer this time—more uncertain, tinged faintly with worry. Her voice effortlessly sliced through to the forefront of his attention.

“Yes, Vhenan?”  
  
He followed her voice languidly with his gaze, only half-surprised to see Eliana had righted herself in the saddle—seemingly without any effort or noise—and had trained her lilac eyes on him with concern and query.

“Is—I mean…. Are you okay?” She offered a small smile of encouragement, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Of course.”

“Oh—”  
  
Varric called back to them, cutting Elie short.  
“—Anyone against setting up camp here for the night? We’re only an hour or so out, but my ass can’t handle another hour on this beast.”  
  
“Finally!” and “Yes, please!” answered loudly from the back.  
  
  
Dismounting and leading the horses off the road, the band of misfits began setting up camp. Solas, rolling up his sleeves, joined Bull in erecting the tents just as Cole appeared in his usual green swirling mist. Varric quickly had a fire going, and was gathering more firewood as Dorian began preparing dinner: leg of the ram Master Tethras had shot earlier in the day. The tents were up when Solas noted Eliana’s absence, and a tiny tremor in the Veil declared Cole at his side.  
  
“ _Grasping hungrily at the flame: her careful fierceness….”  
_ The Spirit whispered; his often-vacant tone now heavy with reverence.  
  
“ _Ignoring how the fingers burn daring to graze moonlight flesh, blue-white tongues licking; leaving strands of a mystic, blissful agony….”  
_ The Apostate was only half-listening, eyes scanned the edges of the campsite for a trace of her.  
 _  
“Darkness loves but still battling to conquer the indomitable—”  
_ The faintest hint of an approach ceased.  
__  
Ah. There.  
  
  
Solas turned around, keeping his face vigilantly blank as he found her. Elie had come to a stop, and shifted her weight to lean on the SpiritBoy, who appeared endearingly perplexed.  
  
“Have you taken to poetry, Cole?”

“Poetry?” He tilted his head in thought, “Like the Seeker reads. No, I haven’t.” 

“Hm, maybe you should,” She smiled up affectionately at the ghostly boy, “Just—not the kind Cass likes.”  
Cole making a face, waited a moment as she righted herself, and then disappeared again.

“Did you assist preparing camp _at all_ , da’len?” Heavy-lidded, he stared down his nose at her; his accusation had the tinny quality of old routine.

“No, I didn’t. Ir abelas, Vhenan,” To her credit, she wore her shame; pursing her lips slightly, her tone fell serious, “I just needed a moment to try to shake this… _wrongness_.”  
  
His brow furrowed.  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“I don’t know, but don’t you feel it? Everything is just slightly,” She wrinkled her nose briefly, “ ** _Off._** Not normal.”  
She glanced up at him, catching the flicker of sarcasm that almost found purchase. 

“ _Our_ normal, I mean. _Inquisition_ Normal.” She corrected, rolling her eyes, “Varric, yeah, I get—but Cole, too? Not showing himself once until we got here; I didn’t even know he had come.”  
 

“He no doubt felt Master Tethras might find his presence a comfort,” He half-shrugged, though internally pondered her point, “Just as Dorian and The Iron Bull have restrained their usual euphuistic comportments.” 

Eliana looked up into his face, lilac scrutiny flitting across his features momentarily, before she sighed and looked past him to the quartet around the fire.  
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Tucking one corner of her mouth, pulling her lips tight and showing her singular dimple, “I guess new-Bianca and Varric have me thrown off, a bit—”  
  
With a breathy chuckle at her Bianca-specification, Solas took a step, closing the distance between them. He watched a shiver run unconsciously down her spine. Her scent was much clearer in the cool air of dusk: the infinite fragrance of wood smoke, dark secrets, and rosewater—but also of hard sunshine, breezes through evergreens and tall grass.  
Her lunar curls _mostly_ remained piled atop her head, with the occasional wisp or strand having fallen free; he gently brushed aside the loose ringlets, impulsively bending to press his lips against the crescent scar on her neck. She remained lost in thought, leaning into him naturally before swaying away again with a small smile, but her watch remained behind him without a blink. 

“I’ll just be glad to have this little diversion taken care of,” She mumbled resignedly, half to herself; absent fingertips trailed tenderly up along the rare skin of his inner forearm as she moved past him, calling out—

_“My treasure,_ **do** tell me you brought liquor?”  
Solas turned as she crossed beside him, watching her saunter, wearied, to the bonfire: lowering herself into a coil on the ground before glancing back to him, patting the ground beside her.  
  
“What kind of question is that?” Dorian tented his fingers over his heart in mock exasperation before reaching for the rucksack behind him, “And I _would_ appreciate your not heralding my ‘Secret Travel Stash’ to all of Thedas!”

“Heralding, HA! I see what you did there!” Bull uncorked the bottle the Altus had produced, laughing.  
  
Cole appeared on the ground next to Varric, who took a long swig of the bottle as he candidly waved away the tendrils of smoke-like Fade.  
“Is it really heralding, though,” Varric teased, perking up at the alcohol, “—if all of Thedas knows the secret?”  
  
Solas paused a moment, smiling to himself at Eliana’s sleepy ease, her head thrown back in a genuine laugh. 

“I just thought we could all use a drink,” Her tame defense a mere shrug, looking up warmly at Solas as he sat beside her, “It’s been a long week in the saddle.” 

Agreeing, they passed around the meat and brandy, their jokes and conversation diminishing with the fire and the last of their energy. Solas noted they hadn’t even managed to finish half of the bottle of brandy, and yet Varric was lying flat on his back, beginning to snore. Dorian was leaning on Elie, already asleep, while the Inquisitor struggled to keep herself upright; her long lashes whispering against her cheeks with each long, slow, heavy-lidded blink. He met Bull’s pointed smirk and nodded, a small smile crawling across his own lips.  
He waited for Bull to lift Dorian from Eliana’s small frame before sliding his arms beneath her legs and around her back, always slightly astonished at reminder of her density. He chuckled softly into her hair; Bull was struggling to lift the unconscious dwarf with his free arm, finally managing to toss Master Tethras over his shoulder before he and Solas nodded at each other and headed to their respective tents.  
  
As he knelt to lie her down, Elie sluggishly lifted her dangling arm, and pressed the warmth of her palm to the center of his chest. She reflexively curled herself around him; he pulled a blanket across them without bothering with undress. This was more than enough—more than he deserved. He buried his face in her hair and steadied his breathing. The faintest melody of her voice seemed to mutter a soft “ _Ma’ lath”,_ though her lips didn’t appear to move: ever so lightly, he kissed them. 

            _Ma’ lath. Ma’_ _Vhenan._

* * *

  
“Finally! I started to think you weren’t coming!”

The small, hooded figure elbowed away from the sweating wall of rock she had been leaning against, sauntering towards them with deliberate insouciance. Eliana looked around the cool, dim entrance to the cave before glancing back—Catching Bull’s eye in time to gesture, and the warrior eased closed the thaig’s metal door slowly, as quietly as he was able.  
  
“Nobody said you had to hang out in the creepy cave while you waited,” Varric’s eyes flitted around uneasily: his voice was thick with distaste, rumbling from his throat. 

“Well, I did wait, so let’s make this quick.”  
Bianca gave a small sneer at Varric’s tone, but the crossbow’s namesake wiped her expression before turning to face the Inquisitor.  
  
“These idiots are carrying the Red Lyrium out in unprotected containers,” She explained, her lips pursed every word they closed around, “We don’t want to stick around long enough for it to start… _talking_ to us.”

“Why would the containers need to be protected?” Bull looked confused for someone who had seen the effect of the stone himself.

“Lyrium is incredibly dangerous in its raw form,” Bianca explained, with impatient near-derision, “It can poison—even _kill dwarves”  
_

_“_ —And we’re resistant to it,” Varric emphasized gently, after shooting the woman a warning look. 

“Sometimes it just _explodes_!” She dead-panned to the Qunari, “No warning.”

“So, pretty much only crazy people mine Lyrium,” Varric rolled his eyes, his voice sounding increasingly impatient with every moment they stood there.  
  
“And that’s just _normal_ Lyrium: the red stuff is worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of their miners died just digging it up.”   
   
  
“You know more than most about Red Lyrium” Dorian was checking his nails with an indifference, but the deposal wasn’t veiled.  
  
“Varric needed a safe for his shard,” Bianca all-but spat at the Tevene, “Who do you think built it for him?”  
  
“There must be hundreds of Deep Roads entrances,” Eliana interjected, much more calm, withholding any accusation from her demeanor, “How did you find this operation?”  
  
“Varric’s not the only surface dwarf to explore the deep roads, you know,” She cocked a brow at the Inquisitor, “I’ve used this entrance in the past…. Admittedly, finding it full of humans was a bit of a surprise.”  
   
“Hm,” Solas’s hum was low, audible only to Dorian and Elie, who was ready to move on.   
  
“Well, we’d better get to work.”

“Yes, of course. Come,” Bianca turned on her heel, striding forward purposefully, “This way.”  


They tiptoed their way up stairs hewn from the rock, slippery with the damp that seemed inescapable. Bianca led them in silence through the curving cavern and up a second, shorter staircase and through a very large, and indisputably Dwarven sculpted doorway. They faced a small bridgeway, and Elie could see several dwarves in an unfamiliar uniform, milling about the walk and—what Eliana could only describe as—a multi-storied building carved from the wall of rock that rose up across from them. The group quietly split in two and hid behind nearby crate stacks. 

“Mercenaries?” She whispered aside to Varric, crouching beside her. 

“Looks like Carta,” He responded while Bianca nodded confirmation.  
  
She glanced across to where Solas, Dorian, Bull, and Cole crouched, signaling to the second level terrace where Carta bowmen were pacing; long-range shooters were their first concern. They, along with the two dwarves beside her nodded their understanding, and Elie shrugged, rolling her shoulders back and letting out a long, silent exhale.           

            _Okay, let’s just get through this, then._  
  
   
Standing up, she grabbed her staff from her back, twirling it once while she focused on the Carta that had now realized her presence. She felt the cool tingle and saw the faint green of Solas’s barrier falling over her, but pushed her mind past the sensation, and redirected her attention. Spinning her stave again, turning her body along with it, she raised it until her arms were fully extending—then pulled it down with force, watching as the lightning emerge as she slammed the butt of her staff against the ground. Slithering along the stone like so many snakes, and moving too fast to follow with the eye, the electricity sent the closest of the sentry dwarves into violent convulsions. 

“So, this is what you do now?” She could hear Bianca calling out to Varric over the growing din of the fighting as she loosed a knife from her thigh sheath.

“Beg pardon?” 

Distractedly, Varric called back as Eliana flicked her dagger into the forehead of the dwarf sprinting towards her with hammer raised. One of the author’s arrows bolted into the stomach of a sentry on the upper level, sending the screaming woman head-over-feet into the darkness below them. Elie slid forward, using the butt of her staff to catapult an approaching a duster into Solas’s waiting Veil-Strike cast. 

“Skulking around in caves, shooting guys,” The Not-Crossbow clarified, sending her own arrow through the skull of a Carta guard running at Bull….  
“—Is this your day-to-day?”

Eliana braced the skull of the fallen with her foot, yanking her blade free from the bone as Dorian finished off the last watchman above them. The group continued across the bridgeway into a second wave of Dwarven rage. Solas recast his barrier, and the arrows of the remaining bowman bounced off, harmlessly. 

“I usually try to avoid the caves,” Grumbling at the joke, Varric sent a quartet of rapid-fire darts into the body of another adversary—all four of which found their mark with a nauseatingly dull _thud_.

Iron Bull appeared to brush the finally three Carta off of the cliff face with a single sweep of his great-axe. Elie smiled wryly, recalling when Bull affectionately named it _The Last Word_. She gave a cursory look ‘round, spotting the doors above them. 

            _No doubt locked, as if_ that _could stop us_.  
 

They moved as a unit: Dorian and Eliana leading the silent procession up the final rise to the top terrace. Each pair of eyes scanned slowly for any assailant they might have missed, should they now be hiding in the ( _theatrically excessive_ , _even for a cave_ ) shadows. With the coast surprisingly clear, Elie gestured to Varric to test the set of doors—which he had unlocked and open before she had finished the motion.

“Sweep the room, grab any orders or loot?” Bull’s request of confirmation was routine, and his tone conveyed as much. 

“The usual,” She shrugged, half-smiling to Dorian as he turned to follow his Amatus into the room.

She crept around the corner, but found nothing but another set of steps leading downward. She returned to the two lovebirds, Varric standing cold-shoulder to a hurt-looking Bianca, while Solas stood uneasily to the side. Dorian and Bull ducked back out—the latter, with no little effort—and they carried on, Bianca nodding that they were headed the right direction. At the landing, they heard the sounds of a small scuffle, and Varric peered around briefly, looking back at Eliana with a cocked brow.   
Two Carta bowmen were failing to take down a lone Hurlock, which stood in the middle of the next bridgeway. Solas dropped his barrier again and joined Bull on the Hurlock as their focus, Dorian froze the enemy archers while Eliana moved forward and shatter each in turn. They all joined Bull on the span, where he admired his work: thoroughly pulverized-Hurlock. Bianca brightened up, rushing forward to an intricately constructed vault-esque pair of doors.  
  


“I built these doors!” She cooed when Elie and Varric warily joined her, having already begun fiddling with what appeared to be the lock, “They probably shut these from the other side when they heard the ruckus we made.”   
She was speaking mostly to herself as Eliana and Varric shared a grim look, which they broke upon hearing the door give-way, and Bianca’s, “Ta-da!”  
  
“Oh, you’ve been here often enough to renovate?” Elie felt the tension in her throat as she spoke the words.

“I said before that I’ve been here in the past,” The Dwarfess answered with a forced disinterest.  
  
“Interior design is not your forte, dear,” Dorian muttered under his breath, “You should have hired a decorator….” 

“I don’t know if Varric’s mentioned, but the Merchant’s Guild is cutthroat—Literally.” Bianca hissed with a fleeting glance at the Tevene, “I built the doors to prevent rivals from following me down here and arranging… _’accidents’_.” 

“And you’ve been waiting to do that since we got here,” The Inquisitor rolled her eyes, already bored. 

“Of course I have,” Bianca’s smile was venomous.  
  


Ignoring the glaringly obvious suspicion in everyone’s shared glances, Eliana walked past the woman and into what was reminiscent of a feast hall, though with lower ceilings than she was used to.  
   
“How’s whats-his-name?” Varric asked casually, drawing attention from several more Carta members, all seemingly surprised at the appearance of these intruders.  
  
“Bogdan? He’s in Nevarra right now,” Bianca loosed an arrow through the eye socket of a duster woman reaching for her bow, “Selling my machine to wealthy landowners.”

“I heard some of the Guild want you named a Paragon for that contraption.” Varric’s arrow passed through the closest guard, and into the man behind him—whom had looked down long enough to miss Bull’s axe raised overhead, before it split him down the middle. 

“That’s not gonna happen,” Bianca laughed as Solas took on a Warden Spellbinder that had appeared from, as far as Eliana could tell, nowhere.  
  
Dorian had a Carta Enforcer afire, and Elie thrust her knife, back-handed, into the chest of the final sentry.  
“Even if I _am_ ten-times the smith Branka ever was,” Varric and Bianca used Dorian’s Enforcer as a pincushion, “A Surfacer-Paragon? _Never_.”

Eliana charged her dagger, twisting it and shattering the man’s sternum before he fell way, leaving her blade remarkably clean. She glanced at Solas, who was already staring at her with pursed lips.  
  


“You know, this is almost fun,” Bianca chirped, a little too cheerfully, “Kinda like old times.” 

“I don’t recall us ever shooting people together?” Varric checked a few pockets and scanned the table for anything worth grabbing.

“Crashing Bartrand’s Guild dinner?” Bianca followed Eliana down towards the end of the room, “We might as well have shot him.”   
  
“ _This_ isn’t nearly as dangerous as pissing off my brother.”  
 

Varric closed the distance between them, watching Bianca’s with scrutiny. She passed Eliana and moved toward a desk against the far left corner of the room, covered with loose parchment and several earmarked files. Her dark eyes landed on a large, ornate key, sitting atop an open ledger in the center of the mess.

“There you are!” Bianca lifted the key, beaming, before walking over and locking the nearby door, “They won’t be able to use this entrance again.” 

“…Bianca.”  
Varric’s voice, low and embittered, seemed to freeze Bianca. She didn’t turn back from the door, her tense demeanor faced away.   
  
“Varric…?” Eliana’s piqued tone was forced through gritted teeth. 

“Andraste’s _ass_ , Bianca,” Exasperated at even having to articulate the accusation, Varric huffed, “ _You’re_ the leak.”

“When I got the location, I went to take a look for myself,” Bianca turned around, her face apologetic and pleadingly sweet, “And I found the Red Lyrium and I…studied it?”

“You _know_ what it does to people!” Throwing his hands up, Varric turned in a small circle before facing her again.   
  
“I was doing you a _favor_ ,” Bianca was defensive now, denouncing, “You’ve had people studying it for years now, and they’ve come up with _nothing_.”  
“I just—wanted to figure it out….” Defeated, she nearly sobbed.   


“And?” Eliana crossed her arms, looking at the Dwarfess expectantly. 

“I actually _did_. I found out that Red Lyrium—” Bianca excitedly cut herself off, looking at Varric.  
“It _has the Blight_ , Varric! Do you know what that _means?_ ”

“Other than two deadly things combined to form something awful?” Varric’s nearly-violent hand motions divulged his annoyance with her seemingly endless guessing game.  
  


“It means that Lyrium is _alive_ ,” Solas stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm, “…or something akin, in any case.”

“Blight doesn’t affect minerals, only animals,” Bianca nodded, never taking her eyes off Varric, “I couldn’t get any further on my own, so I looked for a Grey Warden Mage—” 

“A twofer: expert on both Blight and Magic,” Dorian explained to Bull with a shrug; Bull rolled his eyes, he hadn’t asked.

“And I found this woman, Janeka,” Bianca explained, still overly excited, “She seemed so eager to help with my research, so—”  
  
“So, naturally, you gave her a key,” Dorian’s sarcasm nearly broke Elie’s hardened countenance.  
  
  
“Janeka?” Varric grabbed at his hair, bewildered, “You mean, ‘Trying-to-control-Corypheus-like-puppet’ Janeka?”  
He turned to Eliana, cutting off the red-faced Bianca to explain. 

“She was at the Grey Warden prison Hawke and I were stuck in,” Nostrils flaring so hyperbolically, it was worthy of Varric’s own books, “The lady was…. Obsessed doesn’t seem like a strong-enough word.”  
  
“Women, amiright?” Bull muttered to Dorian, a light-hearted elbow at the Altus’s ribs.  
  
  
“Maker’s Breath, Bianca—” Varric turned back to the now-sheepish woman, “I knew something seemed off.”

“I didn’t realize it until you said you found Red Lyrium at Haven,” Bianca stammered, suppliantly, “I came here, and, well…then I went to you.” 

“So, despite knowing the odds were that we’d find out,” Elie ran a hand over her face, growing tired, “You insisted on coming with us…for what reason, exactly?”

“After Varric told me what people were using the Red Lyrium for,” She looked at Varric, but he wouldn’t meet her eye, “I had to help make it right.”  


That was it, though: that was enough for him to blow up.   
“You told me you had a _lead,_ so _we’d_ come straighten out _your_ fuck up!”

“I know! I know, I screwed up,” Bianca’s tone was halfway between plea and justification, “But we did fix it! It’s as right as I can make it.”

“This isn’t one of your machines!” The Dwarf known for finding an excuse for anything was shouting, “You can’t just replace a part and make everything right.”  
   
“I can try, can’t I? Or am I supposed to wallow in my mistakes forever,” Bianca spit back, taking no prisoners, “Kicking myself? Telling stories of what I _should’ve_ done right?”

“Ha! As if I would tell stories of my own mistakes—”  
 

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Eliana couldn’t take anymore, “Would you two just get a room?”

“Sorry, Inquisitor,” Varric sighed like a chastised child, eyes unwavering from Bianca’s face as he began backing away.   
“We’ve done all we can here. Bianca should get home—before she’s missed.”  
   
“Varric—” The woman with his heart called after him, as if hoping against hope.  
   
“Don’t worry about it,” Varric turned away as he waved her off, dejectedly, heading towards the exit.

Eliana’s brows felt if they raised any higher, they’d meet her hairline. She turned back to Bianca, but the Dwarfess was already pushing past her.   
  
“Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs,” She stopped only long enough to stare Elie down, and then with a mocking bow, “…Inquisitor.”  
  
Eliana turned to look at, well, _anyone_ ; but her companions were all already following Varric out into the open cavern.

  
  

Back at camp, Varric had moved off to sit alone by the edge of the lake, staring into the dim twilight reflecting off of the rippling water. Elie meandered over, pointedly making her footfall heard as she approached. 

“I’m glad to have answers, but… _shit_.” Varric leaned over onto her shoulder as she sat beside him. “The second she showed up here, I knew, I just _knew_ —”  
  
He sighed, then turned immediately to face the Inquisitor, a kicked-puppy shame across his face that twisted a knot in her chest.   
“I let this mess happen. _I_ gave her the thaig,” He offered his hands up, accepting all blame, “And…I am not good at dealing with shit like this.”

“I don’t think anyone is,” Eliana patted his arm, attempting to comfort him, “I’m definitely no better equipped than you are.” 

“No, no—the point is: I don’t!” He almost yelled again before catching himself, “I don’t deal with things. If Cassandra hadn’t dragged me here, I’d be in Kirkwall right now, pretending none of this is happening.”  
  


“Oh, shut up. That’s bullshit and you know it,” Elie shoved his shoulder lightly, pulling a small laugh from him, “You’ve worked as hard as any of us to stop Corypheus.”

“Is _that_ true?” Varric looked up into her face, shaking his head helplessly, “I don’t even know anymore.”  
He paused for a heartbeat, taking a deep breath and calming himself. 

“Thank you,” He offered, “For all your help back there.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Varric. You’re family.” She waved her hand slightly; it was her turn to pause.   
“After all this, do you think you’ll see Fleshy-Bianca again?”

“Fleshy-Bianca? By the Maker, Little bit,” Varric laughed hard for a moment, wiping away at his watering eyes before sighing; his voice just the right amount of hopeful.

“Yeah, I always do.”

 


	67. Born to Bruise and Bless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliana offers a grim insight for the future of her relationship,  
> And some Shit Goes Down back at Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ir abelas: I’m sorry, My apologies  
> Ma vhenan: My heart  
> Ma serannas: Thank you, My thanks  
> Da’falon: Little (close/dead) Friend  
> Mar lethal: Your kin, Your family  
> Harellan’udh: Little traitor (to one’s kin), Little deceiver  
> Ma nuvenin: As you wish  
> Vira suin: Walk soft (“Step lightly”)  
> Da’natha: Little snake/reptile

            Solas stared at the back of her neck as she rode beside Dorian. Elie’s white gold locks were split into two separate plaits, each wound in leather cords, leaving tiny wisps free to curl against her Moonskin nape. She had been unusually quiet since beginning their return journey to Skyhold, and seemed deep in thought. It was as though she had taken up Varric's moody silence where the dwarf had set it down, immediately returning to his usual upbeat self. Bull and Varric lead the group, while Eliana and Dorian maintained a careful distance behind them. Apparently, this was so Dorian could prattle on about  _the nerve of that Bianca, using Varric to take care of the mess she had caused!_

"Stringing him along by his heart like that," The Tevene's voice low and indignant, "Absolutely abhorrent manipulation."

"Enough, my Peach. Varric wasn’t manipulated," Eliana sudden assertion surprised both Dorian and Solas: she had, thus far, refused to offer an opinion on the matter.

“Is that what _he_ told you?” Beneath his moustache, lips pursed with affectionate presumption, “Men aren’t exactly eager to admit their own misuse, especially at the hand of a woman.”

  
“No, I just know what love looks like after years of life working against it,” Elie sighed slightly before turning to look Dorian in the eye; Solas felt an involuntary shiver of unease run up his spine as she continued. 

“Bianca and Varric have a complicated relationship. Regardless of everything they did to be together, there were obstacles that couldn’t be overcome, sacrifices to immense to make. Sometimes, maybe even most of the time, love **_doesn't_** conquer all. But just because it doesn't work out, and you can't be with that One, doesn't mean the love ever really goes away. The intensity of the emotions wane and wax, just like with every relationship; why else would love and passion so often be compared to fire and embers?  
“And sometimes you both move on and sometimes you don't. Yes, either way, there's probably going to be some resentment. But when you see that person again—if you should ever be so lucky—that same love steps in and sets most of any lingering bile to the side. Because you truly _do_ care about them, and their happiness and safety is what you want for them above all.”

            Dorian stared at Eliana with gentle astonishment: as though only somewhat surprised that this woman-child would speak with such painful understanding of the aching hearts in this quickened time. In any case, he seemed less astounded than Solas. The Apostate could feel the heat rising up from his chest, along the tips of his ears and across his face. 

“Bianca needed help, and from someone she could _trust_ ; that’s probably a very short list. And _yes_ ,” Half-shrugging, soft voice now gently stern, “In _our_ opinion, she went about it the wrong way. But it’s not our place to label her as the villain in their relationship.”  
 

“…You’re right, little dove, of course. _I_ certainly have no room to judge anyone else’s relationship,” Dorian’s voice dipped even lower, glancing back over his shoulder as Solas dropped his gaze to the Tome he was holding:  
“Do you think…? I mean, _your—”  
_

“No,” Eliana cut him off quickly, her whisper barely audible to the eavesdropper, “I’m afraid there will be nothing but blood and tears left for _us_.”

            He instantly felt his stomach turn in that specific manner of having heard something that he truly wished he hadn’t. Her words hurt, a sharp twinge in his chest, despite the truth in them. This small mortal who had changed him so easily: she was right, it would end in insurmountable grief and bloodshed. He should have felt relief, he knew. 

_Time is running out. At least she does not expect what I cannot give her. She is spared that heartbreak, at least. Ir abelas, ma vhenan…._  
  
  


            He did not raise his eyes from his Tome again, allowing Fenvir to follow Da’assan as the mount had become accustomed. He felt the slowly fading heat of the setting sun through his tunic, the cold breeze of a mountain range that never thawed. Now and again, he caught a hint of her scent on the wind—the salty piquancy of sweat, mixed with the lingering woodsy cedar and lilac of her bath oil—still intoxicating after three days on horseback.

“Okay, two days left until we’re home,” Her voice was rich, depth and fragrant sandalwood, rousing him from his thoughts, “Set up camp?” 

            _Time is running out…._

   
            Solas was off his mount before he had realized it, striding over to offer her a hand down from her saddle. Eliana gave him a puzzled smile, accepting his assistance with confusion. She was disarming, ethereal; her riding clothes and mussed hair so sublimely boyish in the way only a woman could manage. Her feet had just barely landed on the ground before his lips came down on hers—and with it, all the self-control he’d exerted over the past weeks washed away, like the water rushing the banks of a flooded river.  
            He cradled her face for a moment, assuring the fierce press of her mouth against his own. Elie’s arms wrapped around his neck and he released her face, sliding his hands down around her sides and pulling her against him. His hands flattened against her back, and she was up on the tips of her toes, kissing him as fiercely in return. He clung to her tightly, and she sucked the air directly from his lungs in tiny gasps. With the fervent press of his mouth on hers, Solas tried to tell her everything, all the words he could never say out loud—  
  


“Oh, for Maker’s sake!” Varric’s voice cut through his trance, “Is this because it’s just us guys?”  
  
“I am not sure I’m included in that headcount,” Dorian’s smile was audible, as Solas pulled back, but his eyes never left Eliana’s.

“You don’t consider yourself a guy, Sparkler?”  
  
“I am _fidus achates_ to our fearless leader, first,” Dorian clarified with a chuckle, “My masculinity will forever have to play second fiddle, I’m afraid.”

  
            Eliana’s lips quirked into a small smile at the words of her friend, but her eyes didn’t stop their curious searching of the indescribable expression on Solas’s face. 

  
"Glittering to gloss a hidden hurt,” Cole’s words, ringing in the air, announced his appearance before the poof of swirling Fade mist, “Unlearning not to hope for more, stumbling steps where the wall used to be." 

            Solas felt as if he were attempting to give her the truth—the entire truth—through one long stare. He attempted to compose his face, to hide a sliver of the desperation he felt consumed by.

 _Time is running out, Wolf._  

  
“See, that makes it sound so much more romantic than it is,” Dorian’s amused sarcasm was lost on the SpiritBoy, “We prefer ‘Platonic Life Partners’, Cole.”

            At that, Eliana’s attention was diverted; she threw back her head and arched her back, a blissful laugh vibrating through her chest and into his spine. As she disentangled herself from him, Solas scrambled to clear his mind, feeling the weight of the guilt in his face, limbs, and his soul. She skipped over to the Altus, leaping into his arms with a beaming smile.  
  
  


_“Sickle-sharp the wild witchling reigns, edge of shadow and shine,”_ Compassion had come to stand beside him.  
  
“ _For_ _she was born to bruise and bless, twain love and malice mine,’_ ” Smiling wistfully, Solas finished the line.

            The old poem, words he had meant for another woman in another time, now rang with new meaning. He placed a gentle, grateful hand on the SpiritBoy’s shoulder as he passed behind, moving to unburden the mounts. A raven’s crow gave pause though, and he and Cole both looked up as its shadow circled over them. 

            The raven cawed again before swooping down, to land lightly on Eliana’s waiting arm. Solas watched as the Inquisitor stroked its beak and scratched black iridescence of the plumage at the back of its neck affectionately. Cooing softly to the bird, she used her free hand to retrieve a strip of Druffalo jerky from a pocket of her saddlebag. The bird happily gulped down its reward as Elie retrieved the message from its helpfully lifted leg.  
  
“Ma serannas, da’falon,” Sugary, genuine gratitude, she ran a fingertip over the raven’s beak as assuagement, its duty performed. The bird then fluttered over to sit atop her saddle, watching Eliana amble away inattentively as she focused on the unfurled missive.

 

“Her eyes catch where he hesitated at the impression,” Cole’s voice quiet enough for Solas’s to have mistaken for his own thoughts, “The title feels heavier to her when it’s in ink. This is the difference: the signing of a name.”  
****  
  


* * *

> _~~El~~ **Inquisitor** —            _

_We tracked Samson's remaining Red Templars escorting a supply caravan to a hidden location in the wilderness._  
It could be his headquarters. I expect verification before the hour is over; I've already begun preparing a squadron of soldiers to accompany us.  
_Allow me to debrief you in person when your duties permit._

_—Cullen_  
  
  


* * *

            Having employed Dorian to take to her bag to her quarters and, at Solas’s instance that he had no interest in coming along, Eliana made her way up to the Commander’s office. It was colder than she’d yet experienced in Skyhold, but the air here was somehow sweeter than anywhere else she’d ever been. Elie inhaled deeply, humming contentedly to herself as her breath reemerged as a small cloud. She reveled in the feeling of one who had just returned where they belonged.

 _When did this place—so far from the Marches and my People—become “Home”? You’ve grown too comfortable, too soft in midst of this world. This place is not meant for you._ _What will you do when it is taken from you, Harellan’udh?_  
  


            She shook her head slightly, ignoring the venomous little voice at the back of her mind. They had returned early, the sun only just rising. Taking the stone steps two at a time was dangerous while they were still slick with dew, but she found a small pleasure in the exertion. The warmth of the rays bloomed over her skin as she emerged at the top of the battlements; it was easier to smile with the sunlight on her face. Rapping sharply on Cullen’s door, the Inquisitor was met with a faint and disgruntled “ _What?”_  
  
“It’s Elie!” There was a slight chuckle in her voice as she cupped her hand to the door, lest the echo wake all of Skyhold.

 

“El— _Inquisitor!_ Come in!” She let herself in, but found Commander nowhere in sight. Eliana was momentarily confused until the sound of heavy footfall thudded on the boards above.

“Sleeping in? I’m sorry if I woke you—” Surprised Cullen was not already up and dressed. He was usually in the training yard by now.

“No, not at all! I’ll be right down, just,” She heard stumbling, and supposed the struggle in his voice was due to hastily pulling on clothes, “Just one moment!”

“I can come back later, Cullen,” Both amused and slightly embarrassed, she took a step back toward the door, but the Commander’s bare feet were already visible stepping down the ladder rungs.

“No, stay, please! I overslept. We have him, Inquisitor!” Calling breathily as he climbed down the ladder, “We found Samson’s lair. I was up all night planning and mapping routes.”

 

            Cullen’s feet touched the stone floor and Elie appraised him. Other than the Winter Palace, she didn’t recall ever seeing him out of his distinctive, fur collared armor. Now he was approaching her, wearing dark wool breeches and a simple, soft-looking cotton shirt—he looked comfortable and bright. His hair was mussed from sleep and sticking up at odd angles in places, and he was smiling like an excited da’len. It was the youngest she’d seen him look since her first…ah, _arrival_ in Haven.

“What’ve you found then, Commander?” Eliana laughed good-naturedly, stretching up on tiptoe to smooth his disheveled curls.  
  
“They’re holed up in an old Tevinter ruin,” Cullen blushed moving to his desk to re-read the report ( _for the hundredth time, no doubt_ ), “The Shrine of Dumat, in northern Orlais. My duties usually keep me here, but I think I’d better make an exception for Samson.” 

“Ah, I…don’t know, Cullen,” Elie eyed the ex-Templar warily, “Maybe it’s best if you—I mean, Samson still has that Red Lyrium armor.”  
  


            Cullen turned to look at her sharply, the flash of anger in his eyes only softened by hurt. She had offended him: the realization rose like bile, burning in her throat. He had only just begun to sleep again, the nightmares of his past and his clouded thoughts caused by the Lyrium withdrawal had only just started to diminish. Eliana knew Cullen had a good soul—despite his past, and despite any belief he held to the contrary. She recalled the look on his face after she had reappeared, alive, from the vestiges of Haven.

            _"I will not let the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."  
_  

“All the more reason for me to go,” His voice began as a low hiss but softened with each syllable, until it held a gentle, determined oath, “I would…sleep better, knowing I will be there should you need me.”  
  


            Cullen’s warm, honey eyes held her in his stare, and Elie’s body stiffened involuntarily. Her expression hardened with the flood of guilt she felt for this man’s kind heart. She would not take it, would not allow him to place it in her hands. She would not lead him with any more of her thoughtless teasing. With a tight-lipped smile and a nod, she dropped her gaze to the stone floor. 

 _“Ma nuvenin,_ Commander,” Her tone warmer than she would’ve liked, “I am grateful for friendship like yours.”  
 

            Eliana raised her eyes again, only to be surprised at the lack of resentment in the soft, smiling look he gave her. It was a mien of genuine acceptance, of forgiving comprehension and unconditional esteem. It made Elie’s heart ache, and she felt a wave of emotion threaten to overcome her if she stayed any longer.

“Well, I’m going to try to catch breakfast,” A flimsy excuse, though true. 

“Then we’ll depart at your leave,” He nodded deeply, “Inquisitor.”  
  
“It’s Elie to my friends, Cullen,” She smiled sincerely, though she didn’t look at him again as she left his office, closing the door behind her.  
   
  


_Fendehis, Halesta. Vira suin. I’ve behaved without care too often and for too long. And now we’re getting to the grit of it, and my past neglect will mess up all I’ve worked towards. Foolish girl._

**  
**

* * *

            The clamoring echoes from the crowd gathered in the Hall drew Eliana’s attention to the doorway where the Apostate stood waiting for her. His face was severe, and her brow furrowed in anticipation as she began to climb the stairs.

“It’s not even breakfast yet,” She called to him upon reaching the landing, “What’s all the fuss?”

“ _Halie_ ,” The name so rarely heard came in a strangled whimper: Laleal had appeared unnoticed, throwing herself into the arms of the Inquisitor.

“What happened? What’s the matter?” Eliana looked around confused, past Solas.

            Her face drained when her lilac eyes fell on Silea—covered in blood and struggling—in the arms of two Inquisition soldiers, as her look-alike was dragged from the Rotunda towards them. Turning to him, she desperately searched his face for an answer. But it was Laleal who spoke first.

  
“Nerien—She _killed Nerien_ ,” The bronzed skin beauty held Elie’s shoulders, panicked; though, Solas noticed, Lal shed no tears for her mate.

“Silea? Are you…?” Eliana looked uncertain, glancing at Solas’s tight-lipped expression, “Why would she—? I mean—”

“The Enchanter was found in the Library with his body,” Solas chose his words carefully, speaking slowly, “He had been stabbed repeatedly, and she held the knife.”

“Who found them?” Eliana glanced at him, expression of uncertainty and distress hardening.  
  
“I did,” The taller, umber-skinned woman shook with dry sobs, “He was not in our quarters when I woke, so I went to look for him before breakfast.”

            A flicker of a thought—too quick for recognition—crossed the Inquisitor’s eyes. Elie gazed down at the long limbs of her oldest friend as they clung to her small frame. His Vhenan’s face was conflicted, appearing to be working something out…. Solas’s own suspicions weren’t important: ultimately, it came down to the Inquisitor.

  
“Guards,” The tiny Dalish woman straightened herself slightly, allowing Laleal to remain draped over her, “If you will kindly escort the Enchanter to the cells. I’m going to do my best to figure this out.”

“Ser.”

            As she was carried past, Silea spat at the Herald. The offensive spittle was blocked though, as Solas stepped in front of Eliana, landing on his tunic instead. 

“Thin-blooded filth,” The Enchanter’s screams echoed throughout the now-crowded Hall, “ _Fen'Harel ma dy’dina!_ ” 

            ‘ _Dread Wolf shall end you….’ She claims my duty as her revenge.  
_  

“If you will take one of Josephine’s scribes down and get a statement from the Enchanter,” Elie spoke lowly, looking at the Apostate meaningfully, “I’m going to take Laleal to my quarters and have her lie down.”  
  
“Ma nuvenin, Vhenan,” Solas bowed slightly, face tight.  
  
“Meet me in the Rotunda after?” She had begun to walk Laleal away, but her eyes stayed on him until he nodded his agreement.

  
            Grimly, he gestured to one of the Ambassador’s clerks and followed the suspect down to the confinement cells. Silea kicked and screamed, cursing the soldiers in Tevene, Elvhen, and Orlesian. Fleetingly, the Apostate wondered why she did not simply use her magic to break loose and flee. The answer was evident upon closer inspection: One of the men holding the elf woman’s arms was a Knight Enchanter, and the blue glow of his nullifying spell was visible at his grip.

            They quickly placed Silea in one of the warmer cells, and the Mage guard cast an enchantment over the bars. They turned to Solas, bowing respectfully, asking if he required any further assistance. He thanked them and gave leave, assuring that he would reinforce all barriers and dampening hexes. The clerk eyed the imprisoned Circle Mage warily, as the elf paced her small chamber like a large cat on display.

 

“ _What have you **done** , da’natha?_”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sickle-sharp the wild witchling reigns,_   
>  _Edge of shadow and shine;_   
>  _For she was born to bruise and bless,_   
>  _Twain love and malice mine._
> 
>  
> 
> _Her fair and ruthless judgment doth_  
>  _All beasts of sky and land defer—Oh,_  
>  _Anon, how exquisite her vengeance be,_  
>  _When mine folly she does condemn,_  
>  _For no mercy will I plea._

**Author's Note:**

> All kudos, comments, and constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!!  
> Thank you infinitely for your support! xoxoxo


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